CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(■Monographs) 


ICIMH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographles) 


i 

I 
I 
i 


Canadian  Instituta  for  Historical  Microraproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiquas 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


9 


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copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 

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□   Covers  damaged  / 
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□   Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
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Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

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□   Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 
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int^rieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages 
blanches  ajoutSes  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  ^tait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  6'.6  f  ilm^es. 

Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires: 


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L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
6t§  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-6tre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  mStho- 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiquds  ci-dessous. 

I      I  Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

I I   Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommag6es 


□ 


Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pellicul^es 


0   Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
Pages  d^color^es,  tachet^es  ou  piqudes 

Pages  detached  /  Pages  d6tach6es 

ry\   Showthrough  /  Transparence 

r~7j   Quality  of  print  varies  / 


D 
D 


D 


Quality  in^gale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppl^mentaire 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips, 
tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  6\6  film^es  k  nouveau  de  fa9on  k 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  des 
colorations  variables  ou  des  decolorations  sont 
filmdes  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 
possible. 


D 


This  item  is  fllmtd  at  the  reduction  Mtio  checlced  below  / 

Ce  document  est  film^  au  taux  d«  reduction  indiqu4  ci^essous. 


lOx 


14x 


18x 


12x 


16x 


J 
20x 


22x 


26x 


30x 


24x 


28x 


32x 


■KWSHV^ 


■TT.'^.  v^^V'i'jM  is«i.. 


'  ^\^  --■  '-■\,.-tf.J-\.'^  -if.  -■■.;, 


wmm. 


T-/---T.-   ^ 


The  copy  filmed  her*  has  bMn  raproducad  thanks 
to  tha  ganarosity  of: 

McLtnnan  Library 
McGill  University 
Montraal 

Tha  imagas  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
possibia  considaring  tha  condition  and  iagibiiity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  spacifications. 


Original  copias  in  printad  papar  covars  ara  filmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  Impraa- 
•ion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustratad  impraa- 
sion,  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illustratad  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  — *•  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bonom,  as  many  frames  aa 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


L'exemplaira  filmi  fut  reproduit  grica  i  la 
g«n4roait«  da: 

McLtnnan  Library 
McGill  Univanity 
Montraal 

Lea  imagea  suivantae  ont  4t«  reproduites  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin,  compta  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
de  la  nattet*  da  I'axemplaire  film*,  et  en 
conformity  avac  lea  conditions  du  con. rat  de 
filmaga. 

Las  exemplairae  orlginaux  dont  la  couvarture  en 
papier  eat  imprimAe  sont  filmte  en  commen^ant 
par  la  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
darnlAre  paga  qui  comporta  una  ampreinte 
d'impresalon  ou  d'illuatration.  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  selon  la  caa.  Toua  lea  autrea  exemplairae 
originaux  sont  filmte  en  commen^ant  par  la 
premiere  paga  qui  comporta  une  empreinte 
d'impreasion  ou  d'illustration  at  tn  terminant  par 
la  darnlAre  paga  qui  comporta  una  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  dee  symbolea  suivants  apparaltra  sur  ia 
darnlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  la  symbole  — ^  signifle  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbolo  V  signifle  "FIN". 

Les  cartaa.  planchaa.  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  *tre 
filmte  A  dea  taux  da  reduction  diffirents. 
Lorsquo  la  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atra 
reprnduit  en  un  saul  ciichA.  11  eat  filmA  A  partir 
de  i'angle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite. 
et  de  haut  an  baa.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'tmag'-a  nAcassaire.  Lea  diagrammes  suivants 
iilustrant  la  mAthoda. 


1  2  3 


1  2  3 

4  5  6 




^;^:M^t^dS^i^im^i'>?i^' 


Mioocory  rboiution  tkt  chart 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1*3 

130 


IS 

u 


1^ 

1 4.0 


I 


2.5 


2.2 


2.0 


1.8 


^    ^PLIED  IfVHGE 


1653    East   Main   Street 

Rochester.    Neo   York         U609       USA 

(716)    *82  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)   288-5989  -  Fa^ 


;,    i 


See  page  15S 
SHE   FOUND  COMFORT    IN    GETTING    INTO   THE    OPEN    AIR 


//. 


*7t'= 


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M    f 


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PSe521  153587  1912  McLennan 
King,  Basil, 

^'1?-*^'"^^^  called  Straight 
"**"" 71772042 


COPYHIOHT.  lail.lgl}.  BY   HARPtH  ■   BROTHERS 

PRINTED  IN   THE   UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 

PUBLISHED  MAY.    1912 


.1 


t 

\ 


*"By  the  Street  Called  Straight  ive 
come  to  the  House  called  Beautifur' 

—New  England  Saying 


-agjyp»f»''     ■■ 


i 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

SHE    FOUND    COMFORT    IN    GETTING    INTO   THE 

OPEN   AIR      

FrotUispiec* 

OLIVIA   GUION       .      . 

,1  ,  Facing  p.     30 

I  VE   DONE   WRONG,    BUT   i'm   WILLING  TO  PAY 

THE    penalty" ,, 

"who  on  earth  should  I  be  IN  LOVE  WITH?"  ^ 

INQUIRED   DRUSILLA .« 

"there's    no    one    who    won't    believe    BUT 

THAT   I— THREW   YOU   OVER"         .      .  «< 

SHE    SPARED   NO   DETAIL   OF   HER   OWN   OPPOSI- 

nON   AND   EVENTUAL   CAPITULATION      .      .        «<         JW 

"your  old  auntie  has  come  to  take  all 

YOUR  TROUBLES   AWAY" ««  g 

ASHLEY  GOT  THE  IMPRESSION  THAT  THEIR  CO  S- 

VERSATION   WAS    EARNEST,    CONFIDENTIAL         "  394 


5*S*e)^\ 


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THE   STREET  CALLED   STRAIGHT 


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THE    STREET 
CALLED     STRAIGHT 


K  a  matter  of  fact,  Davenant  was  under 
^  no  "Lions  concerning  the  quahty  of 
the  welcome  his  hostess  was  accordmg 
him  though  he  found  a  certam  pleasure 
irbeng  once   more  in  her  company 
^^M'u  'Is  not  a  ^een  p.easur.  but  ne.ther 
was  it  an  ^mbarrassm^  one    -t  was  exac   y 

supposed  It  «°»)'l  >'; '"J';„VosUy,  admiration,  and 
a  blending  on  h.s  part  of  cuno^ty,  ^^^  ^^_ 

reminiscent  suffenng  out  <>  "t^'  ^^„i„,a  the 
perience  had  taken  the  «mg^  astonishment  once 
memory  of  a  mmute  "f  '"^^"f^^.ts,  some  months 
upon  a  time,  f°"°;f^<>.^.'' ?°""\'^t, he  years  between 

P"''n"'^?nlSree  a"  long  and  var.ed, 
twenty-four  and  thirty  tnre  ^^^^^^ 

s=en:.  w!5^.=  f^:i'-rt'-s 

ShXtsXSsSrsa.nowasM. 


'^BBm 


\ 


I   ;   : 

it:)! 


THE    STR E ET_  CALLED    STRAIGHT^ 

Guion  must  have  seen  it  then,  as  something  so  m- 
congruous  and  absurd  as  not  only  to  need  no  con- 
sideration, but  to  call  for  no  reply.  Nevertheless, 
it  was  the  refusal  on  her  part  of  a  reply,  ot  the  mere 
laconic  No  which  was  all  that,  in  his  heart  of  hearts, 
he  had  ever  expected,  that  rankled  m  him  longest; 
but  even  that  mortification  had  passed,  as  far  as  he 
knew,  into  the  limbo  of  extinct  regrets. 

For  her  present  superb  air  of  having  no  recollec- 
tion of  his  blunder  he  had  nothing  but  commenda- 
tion.    It  was  as  becoming  to  the  spirited  grace  of  its 
wearer  as  a  royal  mantle  to  a  queen.     Carrying  it 
as  she  did,  with  an  easy,  preoccupied  afFability  that 
enabled  her  to  look  round  him  and  over  him  and 
through  him,  to  greet  him  and  converse  with  him, 
without  seeming  positively  to  take  in  the  fact  of  his 
existence,  he  was  permitted  to  suppose  the  incident 
of  their  previous  acquaintance,  once  so  vital  to  him- 
self,  to  have  been  forgotten.     If  this  were  so,  it 
would  be  nothing  very  strange,  since  a  woman  of 
twenty-seven,  who  has  had  much  social  experience, 
may  be  permitted  to  lose  sight  of  the  more  negligible 
of  the  conquests  she  has  made  as  a  girl  of  eighteen. 
She    had    asked    him    to    dinner,    and    placed    him 
honorably  at  her  right;  but  words  could  not  have 
made  it  plainer  than  it  was  that  he  was  but  an  acci- 
dent to  the  occasion. 

He  was  there,  in  short,  because  he  was  staying 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple.  After  a  two  years' 
absence  from  New  England  he  had  arrived  in 
Waverton  that  day.  "Oh,  bother!  bring  him 
along,"  had  been  the  formula  in  which  Miss  Guion 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

had  conveyed  his  invitation,  the  dinner  being  but 
an  informal,  neighborly  affair.  Two  or  three  wed- 
ding gifts  having  arrived  from  various  quarters  of 
the  world,  it  was  natural  that  Miss  Guion  should 
want  to  show  them  confidentially  to  her  dear  friend 
and  distant  relative,  Drusilla  Fane.  Mrs.  Fane 
had  every  right  to  this  privileged  inspection,  since 
she  had  not  only  timed  her  yearly  visit  to  her  parents, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple,  so  that  it  should  synchronize 
with  the  wedding,  but  had  introduced  Olivia  to 
Colonel  Ashley,  m  the  first  place.  Indeed,  there 
had  been  ti  rumor  at  Southsea,  right  up  to  the  time 
of  Miss  Guion's  visit  to  the  pretty  little  house  on  the 
M..rine  Parade,  that  the  colonel's  calls  and  atten- 
tions there  had  been  not  unconnected  with  Mrs. 
Fane  herself;  but  rumor  in  British  naval  and  military 
stations  is  notoriously  overactive,  especially  in  mat- 
ters of  the  heart.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that  when 
the  fashionable  London  papers  announced  that  a  mar- 
riage had  been  arranged,  and  would  shortly  take 
place,  between  Lieutenant-Colonel  Rupert  Ashley, 
of  the  Sussex  Rangers,  and  of  Heneage  Place,  Belvoir, 
Leicestershire,  and  Olivia  Margaret,  only  child  of 
Henry  Guion,  Esquire,  of  Tory  Hill,  Waverton, 
near  Boston,  Massachusetts,  U.  S.  A.,  no  one 
offered  warmer  congratulations  than  the  lady  in 
whose  house  the  interesting  pair  had  met.  There 
were  people  who  ascribed  this  attitude  to  the  fact 
that,  being  constitutionally  "game,"  she  refused 
to  betray  her  disappointment.  She  had  been 
"awfully  game,"  they  said,  when  poor  Gerald 
Fane,  also  of  the  Sussex  Rangers,  was  cut  off  with 

3 


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J 


I; 

lid 


^j-REET_CALLED    STRAIGHT^ 

"^c  at  Peshawur.  But  the  general  opinion  was 
to  the  effect  that,  not  wanting  Rupert  Ashley  (tor 
some  obscure,  feminine  reason)  for  herself,  she  had 
magnanimously  bestowed  him  elsewhere  Around 
tea-tables,  .  -I  at  church  parade,  it  was  said  Amer- 
icans do  that,"  with  some  comment  on  the  methods 

of  the  transfer.  _      .„  •  i  j  ^^ 

On  every  ground,  then,  Drusilla  was  entitled  to 
this  first  look  at  the  presents,  some  of  which  had 
come  from  Ashley's  brother  officers,  who  were  con- 
sequently brother  officers  of  the  late  Captain  Fane; 
so  that  when  she  telephoned  saying  she  was  afraid 
that  they,  her  parents  and  herself,  couldn  t  come  to 
dinner  that  evening,  because  a  former  ward  of  her 
father's— Olivia  must  remember  Peter  Dayenant!— 
was  arriving  to  stay  with  them  for  a  week  or  two, 
Miss  Guion  had  answered,  "Oh,  bother!  bring  him 
along,"  and  the  matter  was  arranged.     It  was  doubt- 
ful, however,  that  she  knew  him  in  advance  to  be  the 
Peter  Davenant  who  nine  years  earlier  had  h:.d  the 
presumption  to  fall  in  love  with  her;  it  w:  ;  still 
more  doubtful,  after  she  had  actually  shaken  hands 
with  him  and  called  him  by  name,  whether  she  p^id 
him  the  tribute  of  any  kind  of  recollection.     Ihe 
fact  that  she  had  seated  him  at  her  right,  in  the 
place  that  would  naturally  be  accorded  to  Rodney 
Temple,  the  scholarly  director  of  the  Department  ot 
Ceramics  in  the  Harvard  Gallery  of  Fine  Arts,  made 
it  look  as  if  she  considered  Davenant  a  total  stranger. 
In  the  few  conventionally  gracious  words  she  ad- 
dressed to  him,  her  manner  was  that  of  the  hostess 
who  receives  a  good  many  people  in  the  course  ot  a 

4 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

year  toward  the  chance  guest  she  had  never  seen 
before  and  expects  never  to  see  again. 

"Twice  round  the  world  since  you  were  last  in 
Boston?  How  interesting!"  Then,  as  if  she  had 
said  enough  for  courtesy,  she  continued  across  the 
lights  and  flowers  to  Mrs.  Fane:  "Drusilla,  did  you 
know  Colonel  Ashley  had  declined  that  post  at 
Gibraltar?     I'm  so  glad.     I  should  hate  the  Gib." 

"The  Gib  wouldn't  hate  you,"  Mrs.  Fane  assured 
her.  "You'd  have  a  heavenly  time  there.  Rupert 
Ashley  is  deep  in  the  graces  of  old  Bannockburn, 
who's  in  command.  He's  not  a  bad  old  sort,  old 
Ban  isn't,  though  he's  a  bit  of  a  martinet.  Lady 
Ban  is  awful — a  bounder  in  petticoats.  She  looks 
like  that." 

Drusilla  pulled  down  the  corners  of  a  large, 
mobile  mouth,  so  as  to  simulate  Lady  Bannockburn's 
expression,  in  a  way  that  drew  a  laugh  from  every 
one  at  the  table  but  the  host.  Henry  Guion  re- 
mained serious,  not  from  natural  gravity,  but  from 
inattention.  He  was  obviously  not  in  a  mood  for 
joking,  nor  apparently  for  eating,  since  he  had 
scarcely  tasted  his  soup  and  was  now  only  playing 
with  the  fish.  As  this  corroborated  what  Mrs. 
Temple  had  more  than  once  asserted  to  her  husband 
during  the  past  few  weeks,  that  "Henry  Guion  had 
something  on  his  mind,"  she  endeavored  to  exchange 
a  glance  with  him,  but  he  was  too  frankly  enjoying 
tlie  exercise  of  his  daughter's  mimetic  gift  to  be  other- 
wise observant. 

"And  what  docs  Colonel  Ashley  look  like,  Drucie?" 
he  asked,  glancing  slyly  at  Miss  Guion. 


^^^'^ 


'^^^li 


If 


THE_S  TREET^ALL^D_^Tj^AJCHr 

"Like  that,"  Mrs.  Fane  saTdjiJ^i^"  Straight 
ening  the  corners  of  her  mouth  nn^  .^    'Straight- 

•  l::f'''\  'Y^-^'  her:;eTin^\Ttt  r:rvfri  r 

and  stroked  horizontally  an  imaginary lustX^ 
keeping  the  play  up  till  her  hps  quivered.  ' 

,  It  w  hke  h.m,' Miss  Guion  laughed, 
quired.        "   '"'^  ^'  ^"   ''^^^•"   ^'^^   P^^f-sor  ,n- 

"Not     stiff,"     Miss     Guion     exDIain*^r^      "     . 
dignified."  explained,       only 

"Dignified!"    Drusilla    cried.     "I    should    think 

1     ^''J"''  Y^^   ^^'^'^    '^^•■^-I^-     It's    perfect"^ 
absurd     that     those    two    should     marry  ^  Apart 
they  re  a  pa.r  of  splendid  specimens;  united    fhev'  i 
be  too  much  of  a  eood  thin^      Tl,     '      ^     , '  '^"^>'  " 

ma  convex  m.rror.     It  '||  be  simply  awful  " 
Her  voice  had  the  luscious  En^^ll^l,  .„,„      • 
sp.te  of  its  bein«  pitched  aZle   ^'^.'h  "rnTe;;:" 
ng  she  displayed  the  superior,  initiated  mannrapt" 

I  t?^ra3iditr™i- ttr^-:£ 

Drusilla  had  acquired  notably  well,  considenW^?hl 

latter  fact  persLed^^n^tSsta'nXt'he^t  En,£ 
articulation  and  style  of  doing  her  hair      H      ^ 

Rangers    were    sSd^the  e'"  Her^ent  '""'" 
to  Captain  Gerald  Fane    sonTf  .heXleveTeni 

6 


nLLJT_REETi_CALJ^E^D_STR^ICHT 

had  had  no  preparation;  but  she  adapted  herself 
as  readdy  as  she  would  have  done  had  «h.  „     '    , 
a  Russian  prince  or  a  Spanish  grandee       n  thTeZf 
and  Z  :  "T  T  ="  '"■"«""^  °f  th:-„,atte  :«:« 
that  „f  '"  */°T-  •  '^'^Sin.ental  life  is  no.  unlike 

w^.n    eo'.hi„enMr™-;l:  -^^^^^^ 

S^Ta^d^  r  heTsel^I  cirV^  T^^-" ' 
following  her  husbanTtf  BaJb^L  Th^'cTneTn 
Indja,  she  had  just  succeeded  in  passing  all  ?he  test, 
S  ed     Tr\T'^^'''  """'S  quar'ters  when  h 

^f^H^erUothterBTst:rBttrrea''r^ 

-ttled  ,n  the  small  house  at  Southsea,  where  from 

OH^'GuioT  ''"  '"''   '"  ^■'^»"X"''»  "-P-  oT 
v^iivia  uuion,  as  a  guest. 

7 


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i 

I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Perhaps  that  '11  do  us  good,"  Miss  Guion  ven- 
tured, in  reply  to  Drusilla's  observations  at  her  ex- 
pense. "To  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us  must  be 
much  like  looking  at  one's  face  in  a  spoon." 

"That  doesn't  do  us  any  good,"  Rodney  Temple 
corrected,  "because  we  always  blame  the  spoon." 

"Don't  you  mind  them,  dear,"  Mrs.  Temple 
cooed.  She  was  a  little,  apple-faced  woman,  with  a 
figure  suggestive  of  a  tea-cozy,  and  a  voice  with  a 
gurgle  in  it,  like  a  dove's.  A  nervous,  convulsive 
moment  of  her  pursed-up  little  mouth  made  that 
organ  an  uncertain  element  in  her  physiognomy, 
shifting  as  it  did  from  one  side  of  her  face  to  the 
other  with  the  rapidity  of  an  aurora  borealis. 
"Don't  mind  them,  dear.  A  woman  can  never 
do  more  than  reflect  'broken  lights'  of  her  husband, 
when  she  has  a  good  one.  Don't  you  love  that  ex- 
pression.?—'broken  lights'?  'We  are  but  broken 
lights  of  Thee !'  Dear  Tennyson !  And  no  word  yet 
from  Madame  de  Melcourt." 

"I  don't  expect  any  now,"  Olivia  explained. 
"If  Aunt  Vic  had  meant  to  write  she  would  have 
done  it  long  ago.  I'm  afraid  I've  oflr"ended  her  past 
forgiveness." 

She  held  her  head  slightly  to  one  side,  smiling  with 
an  air  of  mock  penitence. 

"Dear,  dear!"  Mrs.  Temple  murmured,  sym- 
pathetically. "Just  because  you  wouldn't  marry  a 
frenchman!" 

"And  a  little  because  I'm  going  to  marry  an  Eng- 
lishman.    To  Aunt  Vic  all  Englishmen  are  grocers." 

"Horrid  old  thing!"  Drusilla  said,  indignantly. 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"It's  because  she  doesn't  know  them,  of  course  " 
Olma  went  on.  "It's  one  of  the  things  I  never  can 
understand-how  people  can  generalize  about  a  whole 
nation  because  they  happen  to  dislike  one  or  two 
individuals  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Aunt  Vic  has  be- 
come so  absorbed  in  her  little  circle  of  old  French 
royalist  noblesse  that  she  can't  see  anything  to  ad- 
mire  outside  the  rue  de  I'Universite  and  chateau  Hfe 
in  Normandy.  She  does  admit  that  there's  an  ele- 
ment of  homespun  virtue  in  the  old  families  of  Boston 

^olhyrhS''"  ^'"'  °"'^  ^'^^^"^^  ^^^  ^^'-^^ 
"The  capacity  of  the  American  woman  for  being 
domesticated   in   an   alien   environment,"  observed 
Rodney  Temple,  "is  only  equaled  by  the  dog's." 

,   We  re  nomadic,  father,"  Drusilla  asserted,  "and 
migratory.  We've  always  been  so.    It's  becaus;  we're 
Saxons  and  Angles  and  Celts  and  Normans,  and-" 
baxon  and  Norman  and  Dane  are  we,'"  Mrs 
Temple  quoted,  gently. 

"They've  always  been  fidgeting  about  the  world, 
from  one  country  to  another,"  Drusilla  continued 
and  we  ve  inherited  the  taste.     If  we  hadn't,  our 
ancestors  would  never  have  crossed  the  Atlantic 
in  the  first  place.     And  now  that  we've  got  here' 
and  can  t  go  any  farther  in  this  direction,  we're  on 
he  jump  to  get  back  again.     That's  all  there  is  to  it. 
Its  just  in  the  blood.     Isn't  it,  Peter.?     Isn't  it, 
Cousin  Henry.? 

Drusilla  had  a  way  of  appealing  to  whatever  men 
were  present,  as  though  her  statements  lacked  some- 
thing till  they  had  received  masculine  corroboration 

9 


■if] 


1 

V 


h 


i'  I 


THE_  STJiEET_CAJJ^Ep__AlAdJSllJl 

"All  the  same,  I  wish  you  could  havo  managed  the 
thing  without  giving  offence  to  Aunt  Vic." 

The  words  were  Henry  Guion's  first  smce  sirtmg 

down  to  table.  ,      .      »        x- 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  papa.     I  didn  t  give  Aunt  Vic 

offence;  she  took  it." 

"  She's  always  been  so  fond  of  you— 
"I'm  fond  of  her.     She's  an  old  darling.     And  yet 
I  couldn't  let  her  marry  me  off  to  a  Frenchman,  m 
the  French  way,  when  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to— 1« 
do  something  else.     Could  I,  Cousin  Cherry?'' 

Mrs.  Temple  plumed  herself,  pleased  at  being 
appealed  to.  "I  don't  see  how  you  could,  dear. 
But  I  suppose  your  dear  aunt— great-aunt,  that  is  - 
has  become  so  foreign  that  she's  forgotten  our 
simple  ways.     So  long  as  you   follow  your  heart, 

dear — " 

"I've  done  that.  Cousin  Cherry. 

The  tone  drew  Davenant's  eyes  to  her  again,  not 
in  scrutiny,  but  for  the  pleasure  it  gave  him  to  see 
her  delicate  features  suffused  with  a  glow  of  unex- 
pected  softness.     It  was   unexpected,   because   her 
bearing  had  always  conveyed  tD  him,  even  in  the 
days  when  he  was  in  love  with  her,  an  impression 
of  very  refined,  very  subtle  haughtiness.     It  seemed 
to  make  her  say,  like  Marie  Antoinette  to  Madame 
Vigee-Lebrun:     "They  would  call  me  arrogant  if  I 
were  not  a  queen."     The  assumption  of  privilege 
and  prerogative  might  be  only  the  inborn  conscious- 
ness of  distinction,  but  he  fancied  it  might  be  more 
effective  for  being  tempered.     Not  that  it  was  over- 
done.    It  was  not  done  at  all.     If  the  inner  impulse 

lO 


jstr^^Bsr.  7A«i«Twr-*KSC?'-'c 


™ ^ ^TRE ET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

working  outward  poised  a  neat,  classic  head  too  loftily, 
or  shot  from  gray  eyes,  limpid  and  lovely  in  them- 
selves, a  regard  that  was  occasionally  too  imperious, 
Olivia  Guion  was  probably  unaware  of  these  effects. 
With  beauty  by  inheritance,  refinement  by  associa- 
tion, and  taste  and  "finish"  by  instinct,  it  was  pos- 
sible for  her  to  engage  with  life  relatively  free  from 
the  cumbrous  rmpedimenta  of  self-consciousness. 
It  was  because  Davenant  was  able  to  allow  for  this 
that  his  judgment  on  her  pride  of  manner,  exquisite 
though  it  was,  had  never  been  more  severe;  none  the 
less,  it  threw  a  new  light  on  his  otherwise  slight 
knowledge  of  her  character  to  note  the  faint  blush, 
the  touch  of  gentleness,  with  which  she  hinted  her 
love  for  her  future  husband.  He  had  scarcely  be- 
lieved her  capable  of  this  kind  of  condescension. 

He  called  it  'descension  because  he  saw,  or 
thought  he  saw,  »  her  approaching  marriage,  not 
so  much  the  capture  of  her  heart  as  the  fii'  ^'nt  of 
her  ambitions.     He  admitted  that,  in  her  casv  '  e 

was  a  degree  to  which  the  latter  would  imply  ihe 
former,  since  she  was  the  sort  of  woman  who  would 
give  her  love  in  the  direction  in  which  her  nature 
found  its  fitting  outlet.  He  judged  something  from 
what  Drusilla  Fane  had  said,  as  they  were  driving 
toward  Tory  Hill  that  evening. 

"Olivia  simply  must  marry  a  man  who'll  give  her 
something  to  do  besides  sitting  round  and  looking 
handsome.  With  Rupert  Ashley  she'll  have  the 
duties  of  a  public,  or  semi-pubHc,  position.  He'll 
keep  her  busy,  if  it's  only  opening  bazars  and  pre- 
senting prizes  at  Bisley.     The  American  men  who've 

II  "  . 


.  i 


:-* 


■^  1 


M  ! 


>r«aBBr3r?irfT?*i»«a^'S=  .?■ 


THE    STkKET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

tried  to  r.arry  her  have  wanted  to  be  her  servants, 
when  all  the  while  she's  been  waiting  for  a  master." 
Davenant  understood  that,  now  that  it  was 
pointed  out  to  him,  though  the  thought  would  not 
iia\e  come  to  him  spontaneously.  She  was  the 
strong  woman  who  would  yield  only  to  a  stronKcr 
man.  Colonel  Ashley  might  not  be  stronger  than 
she  in  intellect  or  character,  but  he  had  done  some 
large  things  on  a  large  field,  and  was  counted  an 
active  force  in  a  country  of  forceful  activities.  There 
might  be  a  question  as  to  whether  he  would  prove 
to  be  her  master,  but  he  would  certainly  never  think 
of  being  her  slave. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Henry,  when  the  gal- 
lant stranger  carries  off  Olivia,  a  fortnight  hence?" 
Though  she  asked  the  question  with  the  good  in- 
tention of  drawing  her  host  into  the  conversation, 
Mrs.  Temple  made  it  a  point  to  notice  the  effort 
with  which  he  rallied  himself  to  meet  her  words. 

"What  am  1  going  to  do?"  he  repeated,  ab- 
sently. "OK,  my  future  will  depend  very  much  on 
— Hobson's  choice." 

"That's  true,"  Miss  Guicn  agreed,  hurriedly,  as 
though  to  emphasize  a  point.  "It's  all  the  choice 
I've  left  to  him.  I've  arranged  everything  for 
papa— beautifully.  He's  to  take  in  a  partner, 
perhaps  two  partners.  You  know,"  she  continued, 
in  explanation  to  Mrs.  Fane— "you  know  that  poor 
papa  has  been  the  whole  of  Guion,  Maxwell  & 
Guion  since  Mr.  Maxwell  died.  Well,  then,  he's  to 
take  in  a  partner  or  two,  and  gradually  shift  his 
business  into  their  hands.     Tliat  wouldn't  take  more 

12 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

thnn  a  couple  of  years  at  lonRcst.  Then  he's  goinR 
to  retire,  and  come  to  live  near  me  in  England. 
Rupert  says  there  s  a  small  place  close  to  Heneage 
hat  would  just  su.t  h.m.  Papa  has  always  liked  the 
r^nghsh  huntmg  country,  and  so—" 

"And  s.,  everything  will  be  for  the  best,"  Rodney 
Kmple    fin.shed.     "There's    nothing    lik;    a    fresh 
young  mmd,  hke  a  young  lady's,  for  settling  business 
..tta.rs      It  would  have  taken  you  or  me  a  long  time 
to  work   that  plan  out,  wouldn't  it,   Henru?     We 
should  be  worried  over  the  effect  on  our  trusteeships 
and  rhe  big  estates  we've  had  the  care  of—" 
What  about  the  big  estates?" 
Davenant  noticed  the  tone  in  which  Guion  brought 
out  this  question,  though  it  was  an  hour  later  before 
he  understood  its  significance.     It  was  a  sharp  tone, 
the  tone  of  a  man  who  catches  an  irritating  word  o.^ 
two  among  remarks  he  has  scarcely  followed.    Tem- 
ple apparently  had  meant  to  call  it  forth,  since  he 
answered,  with  the  slightest  possible  air  of  intention  : 
AX7L-    "o^"'"8~except  what  I  hear." 
While  Miss  Gu.on  and  Mrs.  Fane  chatted  of  their 
ZZrfr"'    ^^^^^"^"^^•^'"^l-J'ed  the  way  in  which 
Htnry  Guion  paused,  his  knife  and  fork  fixed  in  the 
chicken  wing  on  his  plate,  and  gazed  at  his  old  friend. 
He   bent   slightly   forward,    too,   looking,   with    his 
superb    head    and    bust   slightly    French    in    style 
very  handsome  and  imposing. 

"Then  you've  been— hearing— things?" 
Rodney  Temple  lowered  his  eves  in  a  way  that 
confirmed      Davenant-who      lew      his      former 
guardians    tricks  of   manner-ii.  hi.    suppositirTs 


ffl 


l-l 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  was  so  open  in  countenance  that  anything 
momentarily  veiled  on  his  part,  either  in  speech  or 
in  address,  could  reasonably  be  attributed  to  stress 
of  circumstances.  The  broad  forehead,  straight- 
forward eyes,  and  large  mouth  imperfectly  hidden 
by  a  shaggy  beard  and  mustache,  were  of  the  kind 
that  lend  themselves  to  lucidity  and  candor.  Ex- 
ternally he  was  the  scholar,  as  distinct  from  the  pro- 
fessional man  or  the  "divme."  His  figure — tall, 
large-boned,  and  loose-jointed — had  the  slight  stoop 
traditionally  associated  with  study,  while  the  profile 
was  thrust  forward  as  though  he  were  peering  at 
something  just  out  of  sight.  A  courtly  touch  in  his 
style  was  probably  a  matter  of  inheritance,  as  was 
also  his  capacity  for  looking  suitably  attired  while 
obviously  neglectful  of  appearances.  His  thick, 
lank,  sandy  hair,  fading  to  white,  and  long,  narrow, 
stringy  beard  of  the  same  transitional  hue  were 
not  well  cared  for;  and  yet  they  helped  to  give  him 
a  little  of  the  air  of  x  Titian  or  Velasquez  noble- 
min.  In  answer  to  Guion  now,  he  spoke  without 
lifting  his  eyes  from  his  plato. 

"Have  I  been  hearing  things.?  N-no;  only  that 
the  care  of  big  estates  is  a  matter  of  great  respon- 
sibility— and  anxiety." 

"That's  what  I  tell  papa,"  Miss  Guion  said, 
warmly,  catching  the  concluding  words.  "It's  a 
great  responsibility  and  anxiety.  He  ought  to  be 
free  from  it.  I  tell  him  my  marriage  is  a  providen- 
tial hint  to  him  to  give  up  work." 

"Perhaps  I  sha'n't  get  the  chance.  Work  may 
give  up — me." 

14 


ii 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


'I  wioh  it 


ild. 


The 


I  .    .  ,.    ^°"'°'  P^pa-      1  hen  everything  woul 

be  settled. 

"Some   things  would   be   settled.     Others   might 
be  opened— for  discussion." 

If  Rodney  Tr-nple  had  not  lifted  his  eyes  in  an- 
other signincant  look  tow.ird  Guion,  Davenant 
would  have  let  these  sentences  pass  unheeded.  As 
It  was,  his  attention  was  directed  to  possible  things 
or  impossible  things,  left  unsaid.  For  a  second  or 
two  he  was  aware  of  an  odd  suspicion,  but  he  brushed 
It  away  as  absurd,  in  view  of  the  self-assurance  with 
which  Guion  roused  himself  at  last  to  enter  into  the 
conversation,  which  began  immediately  to  turn  on 
persons  of  whom  Davenant  had  no  knowledge. 

Ihe  inability  to  follow  closely  -ave  him  time  to 
make  a  few  superficial  observations  regarding  his 
host  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Guion  had  been  a 
tamihar  figure  to  him  ever  since  his  boyhood,  he  now 
saw  him  at  really  close  range  for  the  first  time  in 
3'ears. 

What  struck  him  most  was  the  degree  to  which 
Guion  conserved  his  quality  of  Adonis.  Long  ago 
renowned,  in  that  section  of  American  society  that 
clings  to  the  cities  and  seaboa-J  between  Maine 
and  Maryland,  as  a  fine  specimen  o{  manhood,  he 
was  perhaps  handsomer  now,  wiih  his  noble,  regular 
features  his  well-trimmed,  iron-gray  beard,  and  his 
splendid  head  of  iron-gray  hair,  than  he  had  been  in 
his  youth.  Reckoning  roughly,  Davenant  judged 
huTi  to  be  sixty.  He  had  been  a  personage  promi- 
nently .11  view  in  the  group  of  cities  formed  by  Boston, 
Cambridge,    and    Waverton,    ever   since    Davenant 

IS 


m 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGIl T 

could  remember  him.  Nature  having  created  Guion 
an  ornament  to  his  kind,  fate  had  been  equally  benefi- 
cent in  ordaining  that  he  should  have  nothing  to  do, 
on  leaving  the  university,  but  walk  into  the  excel- 
lent legal  practice  his  grandfather  had  founded,  and 
his  father  had  brought  to  a  high  degree  of  honor  us 
well  as  to  a  reasonable  pitch  of  prosperity.  It  was. 
from  the  younger  Guion's  point  of  view,  an  agne- 
able  practice,  concerned  chiefly  with  the  care  of 
trust  funds,  in  which  a  gentleman  could  engage 
without  any  rough-and-tumble  loss  of  gentility.  It 
required  little  or  nothing  in  the  v  ay  of  pleadings 
in  the  courts  or  disputing  in  the  market-place,  and 
— especially  during  the  lifetime  of  the  elder  partners 
—left  him  leisure  for  cultivating  that  graceful  re- 
lationship to  life  for  which  he  possessed  aptitudes.  It 
was  a  high  form  of  gracefulness,  making  it  a  matter 
of  course  that  he  should  figure  on  the  Boards  of 
Galleries  of  Fine  Arts  and  Colleges  of  Music,  and 
other  institutions  meant  to  minister  to  his  country's 
good  through  the  elevation  of  its  taste. 

"It's  the  sort  of  thing  he  was  cut  out  for,"  Dave- 
nant  commented  to  himself,  as  his  eye  traveled 
from  the  high-bred  face,  where  refinement  blended 
with  authority,  to  the  essentially  gentlemanly  fig- 
ure, on  which  the  delicately  tied  cravat  sat  with 
the  elegance  of  an  orchid,  while  the  white  waist- 
coat, of  the  latest  and  most  youthful  cut,  was  as 
neatly  adjusted  to  the  person  as  the  calyx  to  a  bud. 
The  mere  sight  of  so  much  ease  and  distinction  made 
Davenant  himself  feci  like  a  rustic  in  his  Sunday 
clothes,  though  he  seized  the  opportunity  of  being 

i6 


If 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

I  in  such  company  to  enlarge  his  perception  of  the 

I  fine  points  of  bearing.     It  was  an  improving  ex- 

j  perience   of    a    kind   which    he    only    occasionally 

got. 

He  had  an  equal  sense  of  the  educational  value 
of  the  conversation,  to  which,  as  it  skipped  from 
country  to  country  and  from  one  important  name  to 
another,  it  was  a    privilege  to  be   a  listener.     His 
own  career— except  for  his  two  excursions  round  the 
world,    conscientiously    undertaken    in    pursuit    of 
knowledge  —  had  been  so  somberly  financial  that 
he  was    frankly,   and   somewhat    naively,   curious 
concerning   the  people  who   "did   things"  bearing 
little   or   no   relation   to   business,   and   who   per- 
mitted themselves  sensations  merely  for  the  sake  of 
having  them.     Olivia  Guion's  friends,  and  Drusilla 
Dane's— admirals,   generals,  colonels,  ambassadors, 
and  secret  ries  of  embassy  they  apparently  were, 
for  the  most  part— had  what  seemed  to  him  an  un- 
wonted freedom  of  dramatic  action.     Merely  to  hear 
them  talked  about  gave  him  glimpses  of  a  world 
varied  and  picturesque,  from  the  human  point  of 
view,  beyond  his  dreams.     In  the  exchange  of  scraps 
of  gossip  and  latest  London  anecdotes  between  Miss 
Guion  and  Drusilla  Fane,  on  which  Henry  Guion 
commented,  Davenant  felt  himself  to  be  looking  at  a 
vivid  but  fitfully  working  cinematograph,  of  which 
the  scenes  were  snatched  at  random  from  life  as 
lived    anywhere    between    Washington    and    Simla, 
or  Inverness  and  Rome.     The  effect  was  both  in- 
structive and  entertaining.     It  was  also  in  its  way 
enlightening,  since  it  showed  him  th-  true  standing 

2  17 


ll 


(f: 


a^Ky4^ag«riM^jj»'°Mii*M[JA-ffe"T^'^aygg^tB»^ 


THE^STREET    CALLED    STRJfCf/T 


in  the  world  of  this  woman  whom  lie  had  once,  for 
a  few  wild  minutes,  hoped  to  make  his  wife. 

The  dinner  was  half  over  before  he  hejran  clearly 
to  detach  Miss  Guion  from  that  environment  which 
he  would  have  called  "the  best  Boston  society." 
Placing  her  there,  he  would  have  said  before  this 
evening  that  he  placed  her  as  high  as  the  reasonable 
human  being  could  aspire  to  be  set.  For  any  one 
whose  roots  were  in  V/averton,  "the  best  Boston 
society"  would  in  general  be  taken  as  the  state  of 
blossoming.  It  came  to  him  as  a  discovery,  made 
there  and  then,  that  Olivia  Guion  had  seized  this 
elect  state  with  one  of  her  earliest  tendrils,  and, 
climbing  on  by  way  "  New  York  and  Washington, 
had  chosen  to  do  her  actual  flowering  in  a  cosmopoli- 
tan air. 

He  had  none  of  the  resentment  the  home-bred 
American  business  man  habitually  feels  for  this  kind 
of  eccentricity.  Now  that  he  had  caught  the  idea, 
he  coulJ  see  at  a  glance,  as  his  mind  changed  his 
metaphor,  how  admirably  she  wa"^  suited  to  the 
tapestried  European  setting.  He  was  conscious 
even  of  something  akin  to  pride  in  the  triumphs  she 
was  capable  of  achieving  on  that  richly  decorated 
world-stage,  much  as  though  she  were  some  com- 
patriot prima-donna.  He  could  see  already  how 
well,  as  the  wife  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  Rupert 
Ashley,  she  would  fill  the  part.  It  had  been  written 
for  her.  Its  strong  points  and  its  subtleties  were 
alike  of  the  sort  wherein  she  .vould  shine. 

This  perception  of  his  own  inward  applause  ex- 
plained something  in  regard  to  himself  about  which 

l8 


he  had  been  wondering  ever  since  the  beginning  of 
dinner-the  absence  of  any  pang,  <;f  any  shade  of 
envy,  to  see  another  man  win  where  he  had  been 
so  ignominiously  defeated.  He  saw  now  that  it 
was  a  field  on  which  he  never  could  have  won. 
Within  "the  best  Boston  society"  he  might  have 
had  a  chance,  though  even  there  it  must  have  been 
a  poor  one;  but  out  here  in  the  open,  so  to  speak/ 
where  the  prowess  and  chivalry  of  Christendom 
furnished  his  competitors,  he  had  been  as  little 
in  the  running  as  a  mortal  at  a  contest  of  the  gods. 
That  he  was  no  longer  in  love  with  her  he  had  known 
years  ago;  but  it  palliated  somewhat  his  old  humilia- 
tion, it  rnade  the  word  failure  easier  to  swallow  down, 
to  perceive  that  his  love,  when  it  existed,  had  been 
doomed,  from  the  nature  of  things  and  in  advance, 
to  end  in  nothing,  like  that  of  the  nightingale  for 
the  moon. 


By  dwelling  too  pensively  on  these  thoughts  he 
found  he  had  missed  some  of  the  turns  of  the  talk, 
his  attention  awakening  to  hear  Henry  Guion  say:' 

"That's  all  very  fine,  but  a  man  doesn't  risk  every- 
thing he  holds  dear  in  the  world  to  go  cheating  at 
cards  just  for  the  fun  of  it.  You  may  depend  upon 
it  he  had  a  reason." 

"Oh,  he  had  a  reason,"  Mrs.  Fane  agreed— "the 
reason  of  being  hard  up.  The  trouble  lay  in  its 
not  being  good  enough." 

"I  imagine  it  was  good  enough  for  him,  poor 
devil." 

"But  not  for  any  one  else.     He  was  drummed 

19 


m 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


II 


f 


i 


out.  There  wasn't  a  soul  in  the  regiment  to  speak 
to  him.  We  heard  that  he  took  another  name  and 
went  abroad.  Anyhow,  he  disappeared.  It  was 
all  he  could  do.  He  was  lucky  to  get  off  with  that; 
wasn't  he,  Peter .^  wasn't  he,  father.?" 

"What  he  got  off  with,"  said  Guion,  "was  a  quality 
of  traj^ic  interest  which  never  pertains  to  the  people 
who  stick  to  the  Street  called  Straight." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  Mrs.  Fane  assented,  dryly.  "He 
did  acquire  that.  But  I'm  surprised  to  hear  you 
commend  it;  aren't  you,  father.?  aren't  you,  Peter?" 

"I'm  not  commending  it,"  Guion  asserted;  "I 
only  feel  its  force.  I've  a  great  deal  of  sympathy 
with  any  poor  beggar  in  his — downfall." 

"Since  when?" 

The  look  with  which  Rodney  Temple  accompanied 
the  question  once  more  affected  Davenant  oddly. 
It  probably  made  the  same  impression  on  Guion, 
since  he  replied  with  a  calmness  that  seemed  studied: 

"Since — lately.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Oh,  for  no  reason.  It  only  strikes  me  as  curious 
that  your  sympathy  should  take  that  turn." 

"Precisely,"  Miss  Guion  chimed  in.  "It's  not  a 
bit  Hke  you,  papa.  You  used  to  be  harder  on  dis- 
honorable things  than  any  one." 

"Well,  I'm  not  now." 

It  was  clear  to  Davenant  by  this  time  that  in 
these  words  Guion  was  not  so  much  making  a  state- 
ment as  flinging  a  challenge.  He  made  that  evident 
by  the  way  in  which  he  sat  upright,  squared  his 
shoulders,  and  rested  a  large,  white  fist  clenched  upon 
the  table.     His  eyes,  too,  shone,  glittered  rather. 


just  Ar^i:tTF»^s 


,,i:r¥a 


SS^JP^ 


'IMI^IL^J^ET    CALLED    HTR^ICIIT 

with  a  light  quite  other  than  that  which  a  host 
usually  turns  upon  his  guests.  To  Davenant,  as 
to  Mrs.  Temple,  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  "something 
on  his  mind"— something  of  which  he  had  a  per- 
sistent desire  to  talk  covertly,  in  the  way  in  which 
an  undetected  felon  will  risk  discovery  to  talk  about 
the  crime. 

No  one  else  apparently  at  the  table  shared  this 
impression.  Rodney  Temple,  with  eyes  pensively 
downcast,  toyed  with  the  seeds  of  a  pear,  while 
Miss  Guion  and  Mrs.  Fane  began  speaking  of  some 
other  incident  of  what  to  them  was  above  every- 
thing else,  "the  Service."  A  minute  or  two  later 
Olivia  rose. 

"Come,  Cousin  Cherry.  Come,  Drusilla,"  she 
said,  with  her  easy,  authoritative  manner.  Then, 
apparently  with  an  attempt  to  make  up  for  her 
neglect  of  Davenant,  she  said,  as  «he  held  the  door 
open  for  the  ladies  to  pass:  "Don't  let  them  keep  you 
here  forever.     We  shall  be  terribly  dull  till  you  join 


us. 


He  was  not  too  dense  to  comprehend  that  the 
words  were  conventional,  as  the  smile  she  flung  him 
was  perfunctory.  Nevertheless,  the  little  attention 
pleased  him. 


•il 


■•ii- 


I 


ill 


VK'-jis^se^-^asss'Bim^^ssissw.s: 


l. 


p.. 


.». 


II 


f 

i 


i 


i 


I  HE  three  men  beinj;  left  together, 
Davenant's  conviction  of  inner  excite- 
ment on  the  part  of  his  host  was  deep- 
ened. It  was  as  if,  on  the  withdrawal 
of  the  ladies,  Guion  had  less  intention 
of  conceahng  it.  Not  that  at  first  he 
said  anything  directly  or  acted  otherwise  than  as  a 
man  with  guests  to  entertain.  It  was  only  that 
he  threw  into  the  task  of  offering  liqueurs  and  pass- 
ing cigars  a  something  febrile  that  caused  his  two 
companions  to  watch  him  quietly.  Once  or  twice 
Davenant  caught  Temple's  eye;  but  with  a  common 
impulse  each  hastily  looked  elsewhere. 

"So,  Mr.  Davenant,  you've  come  back  to  us. 
Got  here  only  this  afternoon,  didn't  you  ?  I  wonder 
why  you  came.  Having  got  out  of  a  dull  place  like 
Waverton,  why  should  you  return  to  it?" 

Looking  the  more  debonair  because  of  the  flush 
in  his  face  and  the  gleam  in  his  eye,  Guion  seated 
himself  in  the  place  his  daughter  had  left  vacant  be- 
tween his  two  guests.  Both  his  movements  and  his  man- 
ner of  speech  were  marked  by  a  quick  jerkiness,  which, 
however,  was  not  without  a  certain  masculine  grace. 
"I  don't  know  hat  I've  any  better  reason," 
Davenant  laughed,  snipping  off  the  end  of  his  cigar, 

22 


THE    S TREE T    CJLLIW_STRJICIfT 

"than  that  which  leads  the  ox  to  his  stall— because 
he  knows  the  way." 

"Good!"  Guion  laughed,  rather  loudly.  Then, 
stopping  abruptly,  he  continued,  "I  fancy  you  knbw 
your  way  pretty  well  in  any  direction  you  want  to 
go,  don't  you?" 

"  I  can  find  it— if  I  know  where  I'm  going.  I  came 
back  to  Boston  chiefly  because  that  was  just  what 
1  didn't  know." 

"He  means,"  Rodney  Temple  explained,  "that 
he'd  got  out  of  his  beat;  and  so,  like  a  wise  man,  he 
returns  to  his  starting-point." 

"I'd  got  out  of  something  more  than  my  beat; 
I'd  got  out  of  my  element.  I  found  that  the  life' 
of  elegant  leisure  on  which  I'd  embarked  wasn't 
what  I'd  been  cut  out  for." 

"That's  interesting— very,"  Guion  said.     "How 
did  you  make  the  discovery.?" 
"  Hy  being  bored  to  death." 
"Bored?— with  all  your  money?" 
"The  money  isn't  much;  but,  even  if  it  were,  it 
couldn't  go  on  buying  me  a  good  time." 

"That,  of  course,  depends  on  what  your  idea  of  a 
good  time  may  be;  doesn't  it,  Rodney?" 

"It  depends  somewhat,"  Rodney  replied,  "on  the 
purchasing  power  of  money.  There  are  things  not 
to  be  had  for  cash." 

"I'm   afraid    my   conception   of  a   good    time,' 
Davenant  smiled,  "might  be  more  feasible  without 
the  cash  than  with  it.     After  all,  money  would  be  a 
doubtful  blessing  to  a  bee  if  it  took  away  the  task 
of  going  out  to  gather  honey." 

23 


ll 


'im 


.-''^ic^^^kiJk  a-sam^ia:f^Si,MJi*'.n'^im^fik : 


o|'*tdfflK.«2k;F7_   -    A 


^tr^jiP«S»fir«9-K.4IU' 


■ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STR  A I C II T 

"A  bee,"  Guion  observed,  "isn't  the  ptodiKt  of 
a  hiRh  and  complex  civilization — " 

"Neither  am  I,"  Davenant  declared,  with  a  bin 
laugh.  "I  spring  from  the  primitive  stratum  of 
people  born  to  work,  who  expect  to  work,  and  who, 
when  they  don't  work,  have  no  particular  object  in 
living  on." 

"And  so  you've  come  back  to  Boston  to  work.^" 

"To  work — or  something." 

"You  leave  yourself,  I  see,  the  latitude  of — some- 
thing." 

"Only  because  it's  better  than  nothing.  Tr's 
been  nothing  for  so  long  now  that  I'm  willing  to 
make  it  anything." 

"Make  what — anything?" 

"My  excuse  for  remaining  on  earth.  If  I'm  to 
go  on  doing  that,  I've  got  to  have  something  more 
to  justify  it  than  the  mere  ability  to  pay  my  hotel 
bill." 

"You're  luckier  than  you  Vnow  to  be  able  to  do 
that  much,"  Guion  said,  witu  one  of  his  abrupt, 
nervous  changes  of  position.  "But  you've  been 
uncommonly  lucky,  anyhow,  haven't  you?  Made 
some  money  out  of  that  mine  business,  didn't  you  ? 


Or 


was  It  in  sugar 


?' 


Davenant  laughed.  "A  little,"  he  admitted. 
"  But,  to  any  one  like  you,  sir,  it  would  seem  a  trifle." 

"To  any  one  like  me!  Listen."  He  leaned  for- 
ward, with  feverish  eyes,  and  spoke  slowly,  tapping 
on  the  table-cloth  as  he  did  so.  "For  half  a  million 
dollars  I'd  sell  my  soul." 

Davenant  resisted  the  impulse  to  glance  at  Temple, 

24 


■i\V^-^::-Sitsiiii^;-SS}£S.3SS!S 


.^'^'A^-^  77? /i  AT_r;^  A  Ai^/;_  S  TR/1l(;iir 

who  spokr  promptly,  whilr  (;iiion  swjllow.-d  thii  .tilv 
a  p:la.ss  of  cognac. 

"I'hat'.s  a  KfMKl  deal  for  a  soul,  Henry.  It's  a 
large  amount  of  the  sure  and  tauKihle  for  a  very 
imcertain  (|uantity  of  the  impalpable  and  proble- 
matical." 

Davenant  laup,hed  at  this  more  boisterously  than 
the  degree  of  humor  warranted.     I  le  began  definitely 
to  feel  that  sense  of  discomfort  which  in  the  last  half- 
hour  he  had  been  only  afraid  of.     It  was  not  the 
commonplace   fact   that  (jinon    might   be   short   of 
money  that  he  dreaded;  it  was  the  possibility  of  get- 
ting a  glimpse  of  another  man's  inner  secret  self. 
He    had    been    in    this    position    more    than    once 
before— when   men   wanted   to   tell   him    things   he 
didn't  want  to  know—when,  whipped  by  conscience 
or  crazed  by  misfortune  or  hysterical  from  drink, 
they  tried  to  rend  with  their  own  hands  the  veil  that 
only  the  lost  or  the  desperate  suffer  to  be  torn.     He 
had  noted  before  that  it  was  generally  men  like  Guion 
of  a  high  strung  temperament,  perhaps  with  a  femi- 
nme  streak  in  it,  who  reached  this  pass,  and  because 
of  his  own  reserve  —  his   rather   cowardly  reserve, 
he  called  it— he  was  always  impelled  to  run  away 
from  them.     As  there  was  no  possibility  of  running 
a^yay  now,  he  could  only  dodge,  by  pretending  to 
misunderstand,  what  he  feared  Guion  was  trying 
to  say. 

"So   everything  you   undertook    vou    pulled   off 
successfully?"  his  host  questioned,  abruptly. 

"Not  everything;  some  things.     I  lost  money— 
often;  but  on  the  whole  I  made  ir." 

25 


m 

M 


? . 


ff  I 

- »: 
ill 

l\ 

!■   j 


TflESTREET_C/fLLFDSTRJrCfrr 

"Good!     With  me  it  was  always  the  other  way.*' 

The  pause  that  followed  was  an  uneasy  one, 
otherwise  Temple  would  not  have  seized  on  the  first 
topic  that  came  to  hand  to  fill  it  up. 

"You'll  miss  Olivia  when  she's  gone,  Henry." 

"  Y-yes;  if  she  goes." 

The  impli  I  doubt  startled  Davenant,  but  Temple 
continued  »  smoke  pensively.  "I've  thought,"  Iv 
said,  after  a  puff  or  two  at  his  cigar,  "I've  thought 
you  seemed  to  he  anticipating  something  in  the  way 
of  a — hitch." 

Guion  held  his  cigar  with  some  deliberation  over 
an  ash-tray,  knocking  off  the  ash  with  his  little 
finger  as  though  it  were  a  task  demanding  precision. 

"You'll  know  all  about  it  to-morrow,  perhaps  - 
or  in  a  few  days  at  latest.  It  can't  be  kept  quiet 
much  longer.  I  got  the  impression  at  dinner  that 
you'd  heard  .something  already." 

"Nothing  bur  gossip,  Henry." 

Guioii  Si  ^  li'd,  but  with  a  wince.  "I've  noticed," 
he  said,  "that  there's  a  certain  kind  of  gossip  that 
rarely  gets  about  unless  there's  some  cause  for  it  - 
on  the  principle  of  no  smoke  without  fire.  If  you've 
heard  anything,  it's  probably  true." 

"I  was  afraid  it  might  be.  But  in  that  case  I 
wonder  you  allowed  Olivia  to  go  ahead." 

"I  had  to  let  fate  take  charge  of  that.  When  a 
man  gets  himself  so  entangled  in  a  coil  of  barbed  wir? 
that  he  trips  whichever  way  he  turns,  his  only  re- 
source is  to  stand  still.  That's  my  case."  He 
poured  himself  out  another  glass  of  cognac,  and 
tasted  it  before  continuing.     "Olivia  goes  over  to 

26 


i 


THE    ST R EET    CALLED    STR/tlCHT 

Knuland,  ami  nets  herself  onKaRcd  to  a  man  I  nrvci 
luarcl  of.  G(M)d!  She  fixes  her  wedding-day  with- 
out consulting  me  and  irrespective  of  my  affairs. 
CI<K)d  aRain!  She's  old  enoufth  to  do  it,  and  <|uite 
competent.  Meanwhile  1  lose  control  of  the  ma- 
chine, so  to  speak.  I  see  myself  racinj;  on  to  some- 
thing, and  can't  stop.  I  can  only  lie  back  and  watch, 
to  see  what  happens.  I've  got  to  leave  that  to  fate, 
or  (iod,  or  whatever  it  is  that  directs  our  affairs  when 
we  can  no  longer  manage  them  ourselves."  He 
took  another  sip  of  cognac,  and  pulK d  for  a  minute 
nervously  at  his  cigar.  "I  thought  at  first  that 
Olivia  might  he  married  and  get  off'  before  anything 
happened.  Now,  it  looks  to  me  as  if  there  was 
going  to  be  a  smash.  Rupert  Ashley  arrives  in 
three  or  four  days'  time,  and  then—" 

"You  don't  think  he'd  want  to  back  out,  do  you?" 

"I  haven't  the  remotest  idea.  From  Olivia's 
description  he  seems  like  a  decent  sort;  and  yet — " 

Davenant  got  to  his  feet.  "Shouldn't  you  like 
nv  to  go  back  to  th-j  ladies.?  You  want  to  talk  to 
the  professor — " 

"No,  no,"  Guion  said,  easily,  pushing  Davenant 
into  his^  seat  again.  "There's  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  hear  anything  I  have  to  say.  The  whole 
town  will  know  it  soon.  You  can't  conceal  a  burn- 
ing house;  and  Tory  Hill  is  on  fire.  I  may  be  spend- 
ing my  last  night  under  its  roof." 

"They'll  not  rush  things  like  that,"  Temple  said, 
trying  to  speak  reassuringly. 

"They  haven't  rushed  things  as  it  is.  I've  come 
to  the  end  of  a  very  long  tether.     I  only  want  you 

27 


jw. 


\): 


ife 


M^ 


I 


I,.  ' 


:(! 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

to  know  that  by  this  time  to-morrow  night  I  may  have 
taken  Kipling's  Strange  Ride  with  Morrowby  Jukes 
to  the  Land  of  the  Living  Dead.  If  I  do,  T  sha'n't 
come  back — accept  bail,  or  that  sort  of  thing,  i 
can't  imagine  anything  more  ghastly  than  for  a  r  an 
to  be  hanging  around  among  his  old  friends,  waii  ij, 
for  a — for  a" — he  balked  at  the  word — "for  a  trial, " 
he  said  at  last,  "that  can  have  only  one  ending. 
No!  I'm  ready  to  ride  away  when  they  call  for 
me — but  they  won'i  find  me  pining  for  freedom." 

"Can't  anything  be  done?'* 

"Not  for  me,  Rodney.  If  Rupert  Ashley  will 
only  look  after  Olivia,  I  shan't  mind  what  happens 
next.  Mei  have  been  broken  on  the  wheel  before 
now.  I  think  I  can  go  through  it  as  well  as  another. 
But  if  Ashley  should  fail  us — and  of  course  thr  's 
possible — well,  you  see  why  I  feel  as  I  do  about  her 
falling  out  with  the  old  Marquise.  Aunt  Vic  has 
always  made  much  of  her — and  she's  very  well 
off—" 

"Is  there  nothing  to  be  expected  in  that  quarter 
for  yourself?" 

Guion  shook  his  head.  "I  couldn't  ask  her — not 
at  the  worst.  In  the  natural  course  of  things  Olivia 
and  I  would  be  her  heirs — that  is,  if  she  didn't  do 
something  else  with  her  money — but  she's  still  in 
the  early  seventies,  and  may  easily  go  on  for  a  long 
time  yet.  Any  help  there  is  very  far  in  the  future, 
so  that — " 

"Ashley,  1  take  it,  is  a  man  of  some  means?" 

"Of  comfortable  means — no  more.  He  has  an 
entailed   property   in   the   Midlands  and  his  pay, 

28 


mm 


ii.ii^^!^ii::h^sd^:2i^^^i^m^'^- 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

As  he  has  a  mother  and  two  sisters  to  pension  off, 
Olivia  begged  to  have  no  settlements  made  upon 
herself.  He  wanted  to  do  it,  after  the  English 
fashion,  but  I  think  she  showed  good  feeling  in 
(! -dining  it.  Naturally,  I  approved  of  her  doing  it, 
knowing  how  many  chances  there  were  that  I 
mightn't  be  able  to— to  play  up — myself." 

After  this  conversation  Davenant  could  not  but 
marvel  at  the  ease  with  which  their  host  passed  the 
cigars  again  and  .rged  him  personally  to  have 
another  glass  of  '^:hartreuse.  "Then  suppose  we 
join  the  ladies,"  nt  added,  when  further  hospital- 
ity was  declined. 

Guion  took  the  time  to  fleck  a  few  specks  of  cigar- 
ash  from  his  shirt-bosom  and  waistcoat,  thus  allow- 
ing Rodney  Temple  to  pass  out  first.  When  alone 
with^  Davenant  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  younger 
man's  arm,  detaining  him. 

"It  was  hardly  fair  to  ask  you  to  dinner,"  he  said, 
still  forcing  an  unsteady  smile,  "and  let  you  in  for 
this.  I  thought  at  first  of  putting  you  ofl^;  but  in 
the  end  I  decided  to  let  you  come.  To  me  it's  been 
a  sort  of  dress-rehearsal— a  foretaste  of  what  it  '11 
be  in  public.  The  truth  is,  I'm  a  little  jum.py.  The 
role's  so  new  to  me  that  it  means  something  to  get 
an  idea  of  how  to  play  it  on  nerve.  I  recall  you  as  a 
little  chap,"  he  added,  in  another  tone,  "when  Tom 
Davenant  and  his  wife  first  took  you.  Got  you  out 
of  an  orphanage,  didn't  they,  or  something  like  that? 
If  I  remember  rightly,  your  name  was  Hall  or 
Hale — " 

"It  was  Hallett— Peter  Hallett." 


li) 


ll 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


/I 


S;  ■ 
II 
1.1 


i 


\t 


"Hallett,  was  it?  Well,  it  will  do  no  h.  m  for  a 
young  Caesar  of  finance  like  you  to  see  what  you  may 
come  to  if  you're  not  careful.  Morituri  te  saluta- 
mus,  as  the  gladiators  used  to  say.  Only  I  wish  it 
was  to  be  the  arena  and  the  sword  instead  of  the 
court-room  and  the  Ride  with  Morrowby  Jukes." 

Davenant  said  nothing,  not  because  he  had  noth- 
ing to  say,  but  because  his  thoughts  were  incoherent 
Perhaps  what  was  most  in  the  nature  of  a  shock  to 
him  was  the  sight  of  a  man  whom  he  both  admired 
for  his  personality  and  honored  as  a  pillar  of  Boston 
life  falling  so  tragically  into  ruin.  While  it  was  true 
that  to  his  finiincially  gifted  mind  any  misuse  of 
trust  funds  had  the  special  heinousness  that  horse- 
lifting  has  to  a  rancher,  yet  as  he  stood  with  Guion's 
hand  on  his  shoulder  he  knew  that  something  in  the 
depths  of  his  being  was  stirred,  and  stirred  violently, 
that  had  rarely  been  affected  before.  He  had  once, 
as  a  boy,  saved  a  woman  from  drowning;  he  had  once 
seen  a  man  at  an  upper  window  of  a  burning  house 
turn  back  into  the  fire  while  the  bystanders  re- 
strained him,  Davenant,  from  attempting  an  im- 
possible rescue.  Something  of  the  same  unreason- 
ing impulse  rose  up  within  him  now — the  impulse 
to  save — the  kind  of  impulse  that  takes  no  account 
of  the  merit  of  the  person  in  peril,  seeing  only  the 
danger. 

But  these  promptings  were  dumb  in  him  for  the 
moment  from  lack  of  co-ordination.  The  two  or 
three  things  he  might  have  said  seemed  to  strangle 
each  other  in  the  attempt  to  get  right  of  way.  In 
response  to  Guion's  confidences  he  could  only  mum- 

30 


Ill 


l> 


OLIVIA   UUION 


^.*^^UKS1l■«TaF*■"  rt^Ta*  i^4^]iisi!!i'=:i 


Mill  iiMi  I  a^n>nn»'awi.  ■jg rT^c'vs.* 


■.^-' 


■>J'U:^'' 


'^iyiit'i 


TJL^STREET^JU^ED_STRJ^lGn  T 

room  door.     It  was  a  wide  opening,  hiinE  with  nor 
t.eres,   through  which   he  could  .^e  Ohvia  cZ,^ 
tand.ng  by  the  crackling  wood  fire,  a  foot  on      e 
low  fender.    One  hand  rested  lightly  on  the  mante^ 
piece,  while  the  other  d-ew  back  her  skirt  ,,?" 
me  ing  black  from  th ,  olaze.     Drusi  la     an^'afZ: 

ZZ:::.  ''""""""'  "™  -^^''"''-'^  n.oref;m,iiar 
He  was  still  thinking  of  this  glimpse  when,  a  half- 
hour  later,  he  said  to  Rodney  Temple,  as  they  waS 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"I  thought-that  is,  I  hoped-that  if  I  did  the 
way  might  open  up  for  me  to  do  what  miX  he 
culled— well,  a  little  good."  ^       ^"^ 

"What  put  that  into  ycjuMiead?)'  was  the  old 
man  s  response  to  this  stanLering  cLfession 

1  suppose  the  thought  occurred  to  me  on  ireneni 

other.     To  start  out  to  do  good  is  much  hl„ 
you'll  add  a  cubit  to  your's^ature      Bu  ';o7c;"; 
always  do  right.     Do  right,  and  the  good  '11 IZ  c^^ 

Davenant  reflected   on    this  in   silence  as   thev 
camped  onward.     By  this  time  they  had  de    ei  dc'd 

IroTes^ofthTcSs.""  "■'•■  '""'  "•^'  "-""-  "- 

31 


m 


i 


I' 

I- 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

By  a' common  impulse  both  Temple  and  Davenant 
kept   silent   concerning  Guion.     On   leaving  Tory 
Hill  they  had  elected  to  walk  homeward,  the  ladies 
taking   the   carriage.    The  radiant  moonlight  and 
the  clear,  crisp  October  air  helped  to  restore  Dave- 
nant's  faculties  to  a  normal  waking  condition  after  the 
nightmare  of  Guion's  hints.     Fitting  what  ne  sup- 
posed must  be  the  facts  into  the  perspective  of  com- 
mon life,  to  which  the  wide,  out-of-door  prospect 
offered  some  analogy,  they  were,  if  not  less  appall- 
ing, at  least  less  overwhelming.    Without  seeing  what 
was  to  be  done  much  more  clearly  than  he  had  seen 
an  hour  ago,  he  had  a  freer  consciousness  of  power- 
something    like    the    matter-of-course    assumption 
that  any  given  situation  could  be  met  with  which 
he  ordinarily  faced  the  world.     That  he  lacked  au- 
thority in  the  case  was  a  thought  that  did  not  oc- 
cur to  him— no  more  than  it  occurred  to  him  on  the 
day  when  he  rescued  the  woman  from  drowning, 
or  on  the  night  when  he  had  dashed  into  the  fire  to 

save  a  man.  ,    ,    ,  v 

It  was  not  till  they  had  descended  the  straggling, 
tree-shaded  street— along  which  the  infrequent  street- 
lamps  threw  little  more  light  that  that  which  came 
from  the  windows  shining  placidly  out  on  lawns— 
and  had  emerged  on  the  embankment  bordering  the 
Charles,  that  the  events  of  the  evening  began  for 
Davenant  to  weave  themselves  in  with  that  inde- 
finable desire  that  had  led  him  back  to  Boston.  He 
coul  I  not  have  said  in  what  way  they  belonged  to- 
gether; and  yet  he  could  perceive  that  between  them 
there  was  some  such  dim  interpenetration  as  the 

32 


&yb^^/b^.s^^^Rai^^ig»K@SH-'^^^^i^iB&^yiiDe^ 


f 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

distant  lamps  of  the  city  made  through  the  silvery 
mist  lying  on  the  river  and  its  adjacent  marshes  like 
some  efflorescence  of  the  moonlight. 

«  r^^^,^^*^"^^^'  '^'"  ^^  ^^'^'  ^^'^er  a  long  silence, 

that  it's  often  so  hard  to  know  what  is  rieht  " 

"No,  it  isn't." 

The  flat^  contradiction  brought  a  smile  to  the 
young  man's  lips  as  they  trudged  onward. 

"A  good  many  people  say  so." 

"A  good  many  people  say  foolish  things.  It's 
hard  to  know  what's  right  chiefly  when  you're  not 
m  a  hurry  to  do  it." 

"Aren't  there  exceptions  to  that  rule.?" 

"I  allowed  for  the  exceptions.     I  said  chiefly" 

"But  when  you  do  want  to  do  it.?" 

"You'll  know  what  it  is.  There'll  be  somethinc 
to  tell  you." 

"And  this  something  to  tell  you?  What  do  you 
call  It?" 

"Some  call  it  conscience.  Some  call  it  God 
Some  call  it  neither." 

Davenant  reflected  again. 

"And  you?     What  do  you  call  it?" 

"I  can't  see  that  anything  would  be  gained  by 
telhng  you.  That  sort  of  knowledge  isn't  of  much 
use  till^  It's  worked  out  for  oneself.  At  least,  it 
wouldn't  be  of  much  use  to  you." 

"Why  not  to  me?" 

"Because  you've  started  out  on  your  own  voyage 
of  discovery.  You'll  bring  back  more  treasures 
trorn  that  adventure  than  any  one  can  give  you." 

These  things  were  said  crustily,  as  though  dragged 

3  3i 


K 


!| 


I 


«■• 


Si?SRi5^ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

from  a  man  thinking  of  other  matters  and  unwilling 
to  talk.  More  minutes  went  by  before  Davenant 
spoke  again. 

"But  doesn't  it  happen  that  what  you  call  the 
'something-to-tell-you'  tells  you  now  and  then  to 
do  things  that  most  people  would  call  rather  wild— 
or  crazy?" 

"I  dare  say." 

"So  what  then?" 

"Then  you  do  them." 

"Oh,  but—" 

"If  there's  an  'Oh,  but',  you  don't.  That's  all. 
You  belong  to  the  many  called,  but  not  to  the  few 
chosen." 

"  But  if  things  are  wild — I'm  thinking  of  something 
in  particular — " 

"Then  you'd  better  leave  it  alone,  unless  you're 
prepared  to  be  considered  a  wild  man.  What  Paul 
did  was  wild^and  Peter — and  Joan  of  Arc — and 
Columbus — and  a  good  many  others.  True  they 
were  well  punished  for  their  folly.  Most  of  them 
were  put  in  irons,  and  some  of  them  got  death." 

"I  shouldn't  dream  of  classing  myself  in  their 
company." 

"Every  one's  in  their  company  who  feels  a  big 
impulse  and  has  the  courage  of  it.  The  trouble 
with  most  of  us  is  that  we  can  do  the  feeling  all 
right;  but  when  it  comes  to  the  execution — well,  we 
like  to  keep  on  the  safe  side,  among  the  sane." 

"So  that,"  Davenant  began,  stammeringly,  "if 
a  fellow  got  something  into  Iiis  head — something 
that  couldn't  be  wrong,  you  know — something  that 

34 


---.,        ,-., _— — ^-■-p^.--„y„,-^..-_^-y--.— .^„..,^.^^  ^ --„,p--.      „- 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

would  be  right — awfully  right  in  its  way,  but  in  a 
way  that  most  people  would  consider  all  wrong — or 
wild,  af  I  said  before — you'd  advise  him — ?" 

"I  shouldn't  advise  him  at  all.  Some  things 
must  be  spontaneous,  or  they're  of  little  use.  If  a 
good  seed  in  good  ground  won't  germinate  of  its 
own  accord,  words  of  counsel  can't  help  it.  But 
here  we  are  at  home.  You  won't  come  in  just  yet.'' 
Very  well;  you've  got  your  latch-key." 

"Good-night,  sir.  I  hope  you're  not  going  to 
think  me — well,  altogether  an  idiot." 

"Very  likely  I  shall;  but  it  '11  be  nothing  if  I  do. 
If  you  can't  stand  a  little  thing  like  that  you'd 
better  not  have  come  back  with  the  ideas  that  have 
brought  you." 


:.  ! 


I 


-3nssas!?!^ms^sttii:^^^tmxs'?^, 


<^7^SF5 


Ill 


AVENANT  turned  away  into  the  moon- 
lit mist.  Through  it  the  electric  lamps 
of  Boston,  curving  in  crescent  lines  hy 
\l  the  water's  edge,  or  sprinkled  at  ran- 
dom over  the  hill  which  the  city  climbs, 
shone  for  him  with  the  steadiness  and 
quiet  comfort  inherent  in  the  familiar  and  the  sure 
after  his  long  roaming.  Lighting  a  cigarette,  he 
strode  along  the  cement  pavement  beside  the  iron 
railing  below  which  the  river  ran  swiftly  and  sound- 
lessly. At  this  late  hour  of  the  evening  he  had  the 
embankment  to  himself,  save  for  an  occasional 
pair  of  lovers  or  a  group  of  sauntering  students. 
Lights  from  the  dignified  old  houses — among  which 
was  Rodney  Temple's — overlooking  the  embank- 
ment and  the  Charles  threw  out  a  pleasant  glow  of 
friendliness.  Beyond  the  liver  a  giant  shadow 
looming  through  the  mist  reminded  him  of  the 
Roman  Colisseum  seen  in  a  like  aspect,  the  resem- 
blance being  accentuated  in  his  imagination  by  the 
Stadium's  vast  silence,  by  its  rows  upon  rows  of 
ghostly  gray  sedilia  looking  down  on  a  haunted, 
empty  ring.  His  thoughts  strayed  to  Rome,  to 
Cairo,  to  Calcutta,  to  Singapore,  to  the  stages  of 
those  two  patient  journeys  round  the  world,  made 

36 


•«J#JiE'a>£>.  ."^AKi^  k_  • 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


I*  •% 


from  a  sense  of  duty,  in  search  of  a  widening  of  that 
sheerly  human  knowledge  which  life  had  hitherto 
denied  him.  Having  started  from  London  and  got 
back  to  London  again,  he  saw  how  imperfectly  he 
had  profited  by  his  opportunities,  how  much  he  had 
missed.  It  was  characteristic  of  him  to  begin  all 
over  again,  and  more  thoroughly,  conscientiously 
revisiting  the  Pyramids,  the  Parthenon,  and  the 
Taj  Mahal,  endeavoring  to  capture  some  of  that 
true  spirit  of  appreciation  of  which  he  read  in  books. 

In  his  way  he  was  not  wholly  unsuccessful,  since 
by  dint  of  steady  gazing  he  heightened  his  perceptive 
powers,  whether  it  were  for  Notre  Dame,  the 
Sistine  Madonna,  or  the  Alps,  each  of  which  he  took 
with  the  same  seriousness.  What  eluded  him  was 
precisely  that  human  element  which  was  the  pri- 
mary object  of  his  quest.  He  learned  to  rtcogni/e 
the  beauty  of  a  picture  or  a  mountain  more  or  less 
at  sight;  but  the  soul  of  these  things,  of  which  he 
thought  more  than  of  their  outward  aspects,  the 
soul  that  looks  through  the  eyes  and  speaks  with  the 
tongues  of  peoples,  remained  inaccessible  to  his 
yearnings.  He  was  always  outside — never  more 
than  a  tourist.  He  made  acquaintances  by  the  way- 
side easily  enough,  but  only  of  the  rootless  variety, 
beginning  without  an  introduction  and  ending  with- 
out a  farewell.  There  was  nothing  that  "belonged" 
to  him,  nothing  to  which  he  himself  "belonged." 

It  was  the  persistency  of  the  defect  that  had 
marked  most  of  his  life,  even  that  portion  of  it  spent 
in  Boston  and  Waverton — the  places  he  called 
"home."     He  was  their  citizen  only  by  adoption, 

Z7  \     ' 


<  11 


I 


77/  E  _S  TRK  ET_CAL  L  ED    STRAIGHT 

as  only  by  adoption  he  was  the  son  of  Tom  and 
Sarah  Davcnant.  I  hat  intimate  claim — the  claim 
on  the  family,  the  claim  on  the  soil — which  springs 
of  birth  and  antedates  it  was  not  his,  and  something 
had  alwa3's  been  lacking  to  his  life  because  of  the 
deficiency.  Too  healthily  genial  to  feel  this  want 
more  than  obscurely,  he  nevertheless  had  tried  to 
remedy  it  by  resorting  to  the  obvious  means.  He 
had  tried  to  fall  in  love,  with  a  view  to  marriage 
and  a  family.  Once,  perhaps  twice,  he  might  have 
been  successful  had  it  not  been  for  the  intrusive 
recollection  of  a  moment,  years  before,  when  a  girl 
whom  he  knew  to  be  proud  without  suspecting  how 
proud  she  was  had  in  answer  to  the  first  passionate 
words  he  ever  uttered  started  to  her  feet,  and, 
fanning  herself  languidly,  walked  away.  The  mem- 
ory of  that  instant  froze  on  his  tongue  words  that 
might  have  made  him  happy,  sending  him  back  into 
his  solitary  ways.  They  were  ways,  as  he  saw  plain- 
ly enough,  that  led  no  whither;  for  which  reason  he 
had  endeavored,  as  soon  as  he  was  financially 
justified,  to  get  out  of  them  by  taking  a  long  holiday 
and  traveling  round  the  world. 

He  was  approaching  the  end  of  his  second  journey 
when  the  realization  came  to  him  that  as  far  as  his 
great  object  was  concerned  the  undertaking  had  been 
a  failure.  He  was  as  much  outside  the  broader  cur- 
rent of  human  sympathies  as  ever.  Then,  all  at 
once,  he  began  to  see  the  reason  why. 

The  first  promptings  to  this  discovery  came  to 
him  one  spring  evening  as  he  stood  on  the  deck  of  the 
steam-launch  he  had  hired  at  Shanghai  to  go  up  and 

38 


IE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


'I 


down  the  Yangste-KianR.  Born  In  China,  the  son 
of  a  medical  missionary,  he  had  taken  a  notion  to 
visit  his  birthplace  at  Hankow.  It  was  a  pilKrimape 
he  had  shirked  on  his  first  trip  to  that  country,  a 
neglect  for  which  he  afterward  reproached  himself. 
All  things  considered,  to  make  it  was  as  little  as  he 
could  do  in  memory  of  the  brave  man  ind  woman 
to  whom  he  owed  his  existence. 

Before  this  visit  it  must  he  admitted,  Rufus  and 
Corinna  Hallett,  his  parents  according  to  the  flesh, 
had  been  as  remote  and  mythical  to  the  mind  of 
Peter  Davenant  as  the  Dragon's  Teeth  to  their 
progeny,  the  Spartans.  Merely  in  the  most  common- 
place kind  of  data  he  was  but  poorl>'  supplied  con- 
cerning them.  He  knew  his  father  had  once  been  a 
zealous  young  doctor  in  Graylands,  Illinois,  and  had 
later  become  one  of  tlie  pioneers  of  medical  enter- 
prise in  the  mission  field;  he  knew,  too,  that  he  had 
already  worked  for  some  years  at  Hankow  before  he 
met  and  married  Miss  Corinna  Meecham,  formerly 
of  Drayton,  Georgia,  but  at  that  time  a  teacher  in  a 
Chinese  school  supported  by  one  of  the  great  Amer- 
ican churches.  Events  after  that  seemed  to  have 
followed  rapidly.  Within  a  few  years  the  babe  who 
was  to  become  Peter  Davenant  had  seen  the  light, 
the  mother  had  died,  and  the  father  had  perished 
as  the  victim  of  a  rising  in  the  interior  of  Hupeh. 
1  he  child,  being  taken  to  America,  and  unclaimed  by 
relatives,  was  brought  up  in  the  institution  main- 
tained for  such  cases  by  the  Missionary  Board  of  the 
church  to  which  his  father  and  mother  had  given 
their  services.     He  had  lived  there  till,  when  he  was 

39 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

seven  years  old,  Tom  and  Sarah  Davenant,  child- 
less and  yet  longing  for  a  child,  had  adopted  him. 

These  short  and  simple  annals  furnished  all  that 
Davenant  knew  of  his  own  origin;  but  after  the  visit 
to  Hankow  the  personality  of  his  parents  at  least 
became  more  vivid.  He  met  old  people  who  could 
vaguely  recall  them.  He  saw  entries  in  the  hospital 
records  made  by  his  f.ither's  hand.  He  stood  by 
his  mother's  grave.  As  for  his  father's  grave,  if 
he  had  one,  it  was  like  that  of  Moses,  on  some  lonely 
Nebo  in  Hupeh  known  to  God  alone.  In  the  com- 
pound Davenant  saw  the  spot  on  which  his  father's 
simple  house  had  stood — the  house  in  which  he  him- 
self was  born — though  a  wing  of  the  modern  hos- 
pital now  covered  it.  It  was  a  relief  to  him  to  find 
that,  except  for  the  proximity  of  the  lepers'  ward 
and  the  opium  refuge,  the  place,  with  its  trim  lawns. 
Its  roses,  its  clematis,  its  azaleas,  its  wistaria,  had 
the  sweetness  of  an  English  rectory  garden.  He 
liked  to  think  that  Corinna  Meecham  had  been  able 
to  escape  from  her  duties  in  the  crowded,  fetid, 
multi-colored  city  right  outside  the  gates  to  some- 
thing like  peace  and  decency  within  these  quiet  walls. 

He  was  not  a  born  traveler;  still  less  was  he  an 
explorer.  At  the  end  of  three  days  he  was  glad  to 
take  leave  of  his  hosts  at  the  hospital,  and  turn  his 
launch  down  the  river  toward  the  civilization  of 
Shanghai.  But  it  was  on  the  very  afternoon  of  his 
departure  that  the  ideas  came  to  him  which  ulti- 
mately took  him  back  to  Boston,  and  of  which  he 
was  now  thinking  as  he  strolled  through  the  sil^  ery 
mist  beside  the  Charles. 

40 


% 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  had  been  standing  then  on  the  deck  of  his 
steam-launch  gazing  beyond  the  river,  with  its 
crowding,  outlandish  junks,  beyond  the  towns  and 
villages  huddled  along  the  banks,  beyond  walls  gay 
with  wistaria,  beyond  green  rice-fields  stretching 
into  the  horizon,  to  where  a  flaming  sunset  covered 
half  the  sky — a  sunset  which  itself  seemed  hostile, 
mysterious,  alien,  Mongolian.  He  was  thinking 
that  it  was  on  just  this  scene  that  his  father  and 
mother  had  looked  year  upon  3'car  before  his  birth. 
He  wondered  how  it  was  that  it  had  had  no  prenatal 
influence  on  himself.  He  wondered  how  it  was  that 
all  their  devotion  had  ended  with  themselves,  that 
their  altruism  had  died  when  Corinna  Meecham's 
soul  had  passed  away  and  Rufus  Hallett,  like  another 
Stephen,  had  fallen  on  his  knees  beneath  the  missiles 
of  the  villagers  to  whom  he  was  coming  with  relief. 
They  had  spent  their  lives  in  the  service  of  others; 
he  had  spent  his  in  his  own.  It  was  curious.  If 
there  was  anything  in  heredity,  he  ought  to  have  felt 
at  least  some  faint  impulse  from  their  zeal;  but  he 
never  had.  He  could  not  remember  that  he  had 
ever  done  anything  for  any  one.  He  could  not  re- 
member that  he  had  ever  seen  the  need  of  it.  It 
was  curious.  He  mused  on  it — mused  on  the  odd 
diff"erences  between  one  generation  and  another,  and 
on  the  queer  way  in  which  what  is  light  to  the  father 
will  sometimes  become  darkness  in  the  son. 

It  was  then  that  he  found  the  question  raising 
itself  within  him,  "Is  that  what's  wron .  with  me.?" 

The    query    took    him    by    surprise,     xt   was    so 
out  of  keeping  with  his  particular  kind  of  self-respect 

41 


i 


1,0 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

that  he  found  it  almost  droll.  If  he  had  never 
given  himself  to  others,  as  his  parents  had,  he  had 
certainly  paid  the  world  all  he  owed  it.  He  had 
nothing  wherewith  to  reproach  himself  on  that  score. 
It  had  been  a  matter  of  satisfaction  amounting  to 
pride  that  he  had  made  his  bit  of  money  without 
resorting  in  any  single  instance  to  methods  that 
could  be  considered  shady.  If  complaint  or  criticism 
could  not  reach  him  here, it  could  not  reach  him  any- 
where. Therefore  the  question  as  to  whether  there 
was  anything  wrong  in  his  attitude  toward  others 
was  so  patently  absurd  that  it  could  easily  be  dis- 
missed. 

He  dismissed  it  promptly,  but  it  came  again.  It 
came  repeatedly  during  that  spring  and  summer.  It 
forced  itself  on  his  attention.  It  became,  in  its 
way,  the  recurrent  companion  of  his  journey.  It 
turned  up  unexpectedly  at  all  sorts  of  times  and  in 
all  sorts  of  places,  and  on  each  occasion  with  an  in- 
creased comprehension  on  his  side  of  its  pertinence. 
He  could  look  back  now  and  trace  the  stages  by 
which  his  understanding  of  it  had  progressed.  There 
was  a  certain  small  happening  in  a  restaurant  at 
Yokohama;  there  was  an  accident  on  the  dock  at 
Vancouver;  there  was  a  conversation  on  a  moonlight 
evening  up  at  Banff";  there  was  an  incident  during  a 
drive  in  the  Yosemite;  these  were  mile-stones  on  the 
road  by  which  his  mind  had  traveled  on  to  seize 
the  fact  that  the  want  of  touch  between  him  and  his 
fellow-men  might  be  due  to  the  suppression  of  some 
essentially  human  force  within  himself.  It  came 
to  him  that  something  might,  after  all,  have  been 

42 


\ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGH T 

transmitted  from  Hupeh  and  Hankow  of  which  he 
had  never  hitherto  suspected  the  existence. 

It  cannot  he  said  that  his  self-questioning  had  pro- 
duced any  answer  more  definite  than  that  before 
he  found  himself  journeying  back  toward  Boston. 
The  final  impulse  had  been  given  him  while  he  was 
still  loitering  aimlessly  in  Chicago  by  a  letter  from 
Mrs.  Temple. 

"If  you  have  nothing  better  to  do,  dear  Peter," 
she  wrote,  "we  shall  be  delighted  if  you  can  come  to 
us  for  a  week  or  two.  Dear  Drusilla  is  with  us  once 
again,  and  you  can  imagine  our  joy  at  having  her. 
It  would  seem  like  old  times  if  you  were  here  to 
complete  the  little  circle.  The  room  you  used  to 
have  in  your  college  vacations— after  dear  Tom  and 
Sarah  were  taken  from  us — is  all  ready  for  you; 
and  Drusilla  would  like  to  know  you  were  here  to 
occupy  it  just  as  much  as  we." 

In  accepting  this  invitation  Davenant  knew  him- 
self to  be  drawn  by  a  variety  of  strands  of  motive, 
no  one  of  which  had  much  force  in  itself,  but  which 
when  woven  together  lent  one  another  strength. 
Now  that  he  had  come,  he  was  glad  to  have  done  it, 
since  in  the  combination  of  circumstances  he  felt 
there  must  be  an  acknowledged  need  of  a  young  man, 
a  strong  man,  a  man  capable  of  shouldering  re- 
sponsibilities. He  would  have  been  astonished  to 
think  that  that  could  be  gainsaid. 

The  feeling  was  confirmed  in  him  after  he  had 
watched  the  tip  of  his  smoked-out  cigarette  drop, 
like  a  tiny  star,  into  the  current  of  the  Charles,  and 
had  re-entered  Rodney  Temple's  house. 

43 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


V- 


"Here's  Peter!" 

It  was  Drusilla's  voice,  with  a  sob  in  it.  She 
was  sitting  on  the  stairs,  three  steps  from  the  top, 
huddled  into  a  voluminous  mauve-and-white  dress- 
ing-gown. In  the  one  dim  light  burning  in  the  hall 
her  big  black  eyes  gleamed  tragically,  as  those  of 
certain  animals  gleam  in  dusk. 

"Oh,  Peter,  dear,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come!  The 
most  awful  thing  has  happened." 

That  was  Mrs.  Temple  who,  wrapped  in  some- 
thing fleecy  in  texture  and  pink  in  hue,  was  crouched 
on  the  lowest  step,  looking  more  than  ever  like  a  tea- 
cozy  dropped  by  accident. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Davenant  asked,  too 
deeply  astonished  even  to  take  off  his  hat.  "Is 
it  burglars?    Where's  the  professor?" 

"He's  gone  to  bed.  It  isn't  burglars.  I  wish  it 
was.  It's  something  far,  far  worse.  Collins  told 
Drusilla.  Oh,  I  know  it's  true — though  Rodney 
wouldn't  say  so.  I  simply  .  .  .  know  .  .  .  it's  .  .  . 
true!' 

"Oh,  it's  true,"  Drusilla  corroborated.  "I  knew 
that  the  minute  ColHns  began  to  speak.  It  explains 
everything — all  the  little  queernesses  I've  noticed 
ever  since  I  came  home — and  everything." 

"What  is  it?"  Peter  asked  again.  "Who's 
Collins?    And  what  has  he  said?" 

"It  isn't  a  he;  it's  a  she,"  Drusilla  explained. 
"She's  my  maid.  I  knew  the  minute  I  came  into 
the  room  that  she'd  got  something  on  her  mind — 
I  knew  it  by  the  way  she  took  my  wrapper  from  the 
wardrobe  and  laid  it  on  the  bed.     It  was  too  awful!" 

44 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


The  way  she  laid  your 


"What  was  too  awful? 
wrapper  on  the  bed?" 

II No;  what  she  told  me.     And  I  know  it's  true." 
"Well,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  Drusilla,  what  is  it?" 
Drusilla  began  to  narrate.     She  had  forborne,  she 
said,  to  put  any  questions  till  she  was  being  "un- 
done"; but  in  that  attitude,  favorable  for  confidence, 
she  had  asked  Collins  over  her  shoulder  if  anything 
troubled  her,  and  Collins  had  told  her  tale.     Briefly, 
it  was  to  the  effect  that  some  of  the  most  distin- 
guished kitchens  in  Boston  and  Waverton  had  been 
divided  into  two  factions,  one  pro  and  the  other 
contra,  ever  since  the  day,  now  three  weeks  ago, 
when  Miss  Maggie  Murphy,  whose  position  of  hon- 
orable  service   at  Lawyer   Benn's  enabled   her  to 
profit  by  the  hints  dropped  at  that  eminent  man's 
table,  had  announced,  in  the  ^servant's  dining-room 
of  Tory  Hill  itself,  that  Henry  Guion  was  "going  to 
be  put  in  jail."     He  had  stolen  Jdrl!  Clay's  money, 
and  Mrs.   Rodman's  money,  "and  a  lot  of  other 
payple's   money,  too,"  Miss   Murphy  was  able  to 
affirm— cHents  for  whom  Guion,  Maxwell  &  Guion 
had  long  acted  as  trustees — and  was  now  to  be  tried 
and  sentenced.  Lawyer  Benn  himself  being  put  in 
charge  of  the  affair  by  the  parties  wronged.    Drusilla 
described  the  sinking  of  her  own  heart  as  these  bits 
of  information  were  given  her,  though  she  had  not 
failed  to   reprimand  Collins  for  the  repetition  of 
foolish  gossip.     This,  it  seemed,  had  put  Collins  on 
her  mettle  in  defense  of  her  own  order,  and  she  had 
replied  that,  if  it  came  to  that,  m'm,  the  contents  of 
the  waste-paper  baskets  at  Tory  Hill,  though  slightly 

45 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

damaged,  had  borne  ample  testimony  to  the  truth 
of  the  tale  as  Miss  Maggie  Murphy  told  it.  If  Mrs. 
Fane  required  documentary  evidence,  Collins  her- 
self was  in  a  position  to  supply  it,  through  the  kind- 
ness of  her  colleagues  in  Henry  Guion's  employ. 

Davenant  listened  in  silence.  "So  the  thing  is 
out?"  was  his  only  comment. 

"It's  out — and  all  over  the  place,"  Drusilla  an- 
swered, tearfully.  "We're  the  only  people  who 
haven't  known  it — but  it's  always  that  way  with 
those  who  are  most  concerned." 

"And  over  three  hundred  guests  invited  to  Olivia's 
wedding  next  Thursday  fortnight!  And  the  British 
Military  Attache  coming  from  Washington!  And 
Lord  Woolwich  from  Ottawa!  What's  to  happen 
/  don't  know." 

Mrs.  Temple  raised  her  hands  and  let  them  drop 
heavily. 

"Oh,  Peter,  can't  you  do  anything?" 

"What  can  he  do,  child?  If  Henry's  been  making 
away  with  all  that  money  it  would  take  a  fortune 
to—" 

"Oh,  men  can  do  things — in  business,"  Drusilla 
asserted.  "I  know  they  can.  Banks  lend  them 
money,  dont  they,  Peter?  Banks  are  always  lend- 
ing money  to  tide  people  over.  I've  often  heard  of 
it.  Oh,  Peter,  do  something.  I'm  so  glad  you're 
here.     It  seems  like  a  providence." 

"Colonel  Ashley  will  be  here  next  week,  too," 
Mrs,  Temple  groaned,  as  though  the  fact  brought 
comfort. 

"Oh,  mother  dear,  don't  speak  of  him!"     Drusilla 

46 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

put  up  her  two  hands,  palms  outward,  before  her 
averted  face,  as  though  to  banish  the  suggestion. 
"If  you'd  ever  known  him  you'd  see  how  impossible 
-—how  impossible— this  kind  of  situation  is  for  a  man 
like  him.  Poor,  poor  Olivia !  It's  impossible  for  her, 
too,  I  know;  but  then  we  Americans — well,  we're 
more  used  to  things.  But  one  thing  is  certain, 
anyhow,"  she  continued,  rising  in  her  place  on  the 
stairs  and  stretching  out  her  hand  oratorically: 
"If  this  happens  I  shall  never  go  back  to  Southsea 
— never,  never! — no,  nor  to  Silchester.  With  my 
temperament  I  couldn't  face  it.  My  career  will  be 
over.  There'll  be  nothing  left  for  me,  mother  dear, 
but  to  stay  at  home  with  father  and  you." 

Mrs.  Temple  rose,  sighing  heavily.  "Well,  I 
suppose  we  must  go  to  bed,  though  I  must  say  it 
seems  harder  to  do  that  than  almost  anything. 
None  of  us  '11  sleep." 

"Oh,  Peter,  ivont  you  do  something.?" 

Drusilla's  hands  were  clasped  beneath  an  im- 
ploring face,  slightly  tilted  to  one  side.  Her  black 
hair  had  begun  to  tumble  to  her  shoulders. 

"I'll — I'll  think  it  over,"  was  all  he  could  find  to 
answer. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Peter!  I  must  say  it  seems  like 
a  providence — your  being  here.  With  my  tempera- 
ment I  always  feel  that  there's  nothing  like  a  big 
strong  man  to  lean  on." 

The  ladies  retired,  leaving  him  to  put  out  the 
light.  For  a  long  time  he  stood,  as  he  had  entered, 
just  inside  the  front  door  leaning  on  his  stick  and 
wearing   his   hat   and   overcoat.     He   was   musing 

47 


h- 


fi 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

rather  than  thinking,  musing  on  the  odd  way  in 
which  he  seemed  almost  to  have  been  waited  for. 
Then,  irrelevantly  perhaps,  there  shot  across  his 
memory  the  phrases  used  by  Rodney  Temple  less 
than  an  hour  ago: 

"Some  call  it  conscience.  Some  call  it  God. 
Some  call  it  neither.  But,"  he  added,  slowly, 
"some  do  call  it  God." 


IV 


jLOSING  the   door  behind  his  depart- 

C,  ing  guests,  Guion  stood  for  a  minute, 
n  with  his  hand  still  on  the  knob,  pressing 
^  his    forehead    against    the    woodwork. 
He  hstened  to  the  sound  of  the  carriage- 
I  wheels  die  away  and  to  the  crunching 
tread  ot  the  two  men  down  the  avenue. 

T  "^u-,hf^  ^"'°"  ^^^  received  the  last  guest  at 
Tory  Hi  1,  he  said  to  himself.  "That's  all  over-all 
over  and  done  with.    Now!" 

It  was  the  hour  to  which  he  had  been  looking 
forward,  first  as  an  impossibility,  then  as  a  danger! 
and  at  last  as  an  expectation,  ever  since  the  day, 
now  some  years  ago,  when  he  began  to  fear  that  he 
might  not  be  able  to  restore  all  the  money  he  had 
borrowed     from  the  properties  in  his  trust.    Hav- 
mg  descried  It  from  a  long  way  off,  he  knew  that  with 
reasonable  luck  it  could  not  overtake  him   soon. 
1  here  were  many  chances,  indeed,  that  it  might  never 
overtake  him  at  all.     Times  might  change;  business 
might  improve;  he  might  come  in  for  the  money  he 
expected  from  his  old  Aunt  de  Melcourt;  he  might 
die      if  none  of  these  things  happened,  there  were 
still  ways  and  means  by  which  he  might  make  money 
in  big  strokes  and  "square  himself"  without  any 
■^  ,  49 


!' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

one  ever  being  the  wiser.  He  had  known  of  cases, 
or,  at  least,  he  had  suspected  them,  in  which  men  in 
precisely  his  position  had  averted  by  daring  play  the 
deadliest  peril  and  gone  down  into  honored  graves. 
Fortune  had  generally  favored  him  hitherto,  and 
probably  would  favor  him  again. 

So  after  the  first  dreadful  days  of  seeing  his  "mis- 
takes," and,  in  his  recoil,  calling  himself  by  oppro- 
brious names,.he  began  to  get  used  to  his  situation 
and  boldly  to  meet  its  requirements.  That  he  would 
prove  equal  to  them  he  had  scarcely  any  doubt. 
It  was,  in  fact,  next  to  inconceivable  that  a  man  of 
his  antecedents  and  advantages  should  be  unable 
to  cope  with  conditions  that,  after  all,  were  not 
wholly  exceptional  in  the  sordid  history  of  business. 

He  admitted  that  the  affair  was  sordid,  while 
finding  an  excuse  for  his  own  connection  with  it  in 
the  involuntary  defilement  that  comes  from  touching 
pitch.  It  was  impossible,  he  said,  for  a  man  of 
business  not  to  touch  pitch,  and  he  was  not  a  man 
of  business  of  his  own  accord.  The  state  of  life 
had  been  forced  on  him.  He  was  a  trustee  of  other 
people's  property  by  inheritance,  just  as  a  man  be- 
comes a  tsar.  As  a  career  it  was  one  of  the  last  he 
would  have  chosen.  Had  he  received  from  his 
father  an  ample .  personal  fortune  instead  of  a  mere 
lucrative  practice  he  would  have  been  a  country 
gentleman,  in  the  English  style,  with,  of  course,  a 
house  in  town.  Born  with  a  princely  aptitude  for 
spending  his  own  money,  he  felt  it  hard  that  he  should 
have  been  compelled  to  make  it  his  life's  work  to 
husband   that  of  others.     The   fact   that  he   had 

50 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRJ/GHT 

always,  to  some  extent  been  a  square  man  in  a  round 
hole  seemed  to  entitle  him  to  a  large  share  of  moral 
allowance,  especially  in  his  judgment  on  himself. 
He  emphasized  the  last  consideration,  since  it  en- 
abled him,  in  his  moments  of  solitude,  to  look  him- 
self more  straightly  in  the  face.  It  helped  him  to 
buttress  up  his  sense  of  honor,  and  so  his  sense  of 
energy,  to  be  able  to  say,  "I  am  still  a  gentleman." 

He  came  in  time  to  express  it  otherwise,  and  to 
say,  "I  must  still  play  the  gentleman."  He  came 
to  define  also  what  he  meant  by  the  word  still.  The 
future  presented  itself  as  a  succession  of  stages,  in 
which  this  could  not  happen  till  that  had  happened, 
nor  the  final  disaster  arrive  till  all  the  intervening 
phases  of  the  situation  had  been  passed.  He  had 
passed  them.  Of  late  he  had  seen  that  the  flames 
of  hell  would  get  hold  upon  him  at  that  exact  in- 
stant when,  the  last  defense  having  been  broken 
down  and  the  last  shift  resorted  to,  he  should  turn 
the  key  on  all  outside  hope,  and  be  alone  with  him- 
self and  the  knowledge  that  he  could  do  no  more. 
Till  then  he  could  ward  them  off,  and  he  had  been 
fighting  them  to  the  latest  second.  But  on  coming 
home  from  his  office  in  Boston  that  afternoon  he 
had  told  himself  that  the  game  was  up.  Nothing 
as  far  as  he  could  see  would  give  him  the  respite 
of  another  four  and  twenty  hours.  The  minutes 
between  him  and  the  final  preparations  could  be 
counted  with  the  finger  on  the  clock. 

In  the  matter  of  preparation  the  most  important 
detail  would  be  to  tell  Olivia.  Hoping  against  hope 
that  this  would  never  berome  necessary,  he  had  put 

SI 


I 


THE    S TREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

off  the  evil  moment  till  the  postponement  had  be- 
come cruel.  But  he  had  lived  through  it  so  often 
in  thought,  he  had  so  acutely  suffered  with  her  in 
imagination  the  staggering  humihation  of  it  all,  that 
now,  when  the  time  had  come,  his  feelings  were 
benumbed.  As  he  turned  into  his  own  grounds 
that  day  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  deadness  of  emo- 
tion was  such  that  he  could  carry  the  thing  through 
mechanically,  as  a  skilled  surgeon  uses  a  knife. 
If  he  found  her  at  tea  in  the  drawing-room  he  might 
tell  her  then. 

He  found  her  at  tea,  but  there  were  people  with 
her.  He  was  almost  sorry;  and  yet  it  keyed  him 
up  to  see  that  there  was  some  necessity  "to  still 
play  the  gentleman."  He  played  it,  and  played 
it  well — with  much  of  his  old-time  ease.  The  feat 
was  so  extraordinary  as  to  call  out  a  round  of  mental 
applause  for  himself;  and,  after  all,  he  reflected, 
there  would  be  time  enough  in  the  evening. 

Put  tea  being  over.  Miss  Guion  announced  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple  and  Drusilla  Fane  were  com- 
ing informally  to  dinner,  bringing  with  them  a  guest 
of  theirs,  "some  one  of  the  name  of  Davenant." 
For  an  instant  he  felt  that  he  must  ask  her  to  tele- 
phone and  put  them  off,  but  on  second  thoughts  it 
seemed  better  to  let  them  come.  It  would  be  in 
the  nature  of  a  reprieve,  not  so  much  for  himself  as 
for  Olivia.  It  would  give  her  one  more  cheerful 
evening,  the  last,  perhaps,  in  her  life.  Besides — the 
suggestion  was  a  vague  one,  sprung  doubtless  of 
the  hysterical  element  in  his  suppressed  excitement 
—  he    might    test    his    avowals    on    Temple    and 

52 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Davenant,  getting  a  foretaste  of  what  it  would 
be  to  face  the  world.  He  formed  no  precise  in- 
tention of  doing  that;  he  only  allowed  his  mind  to 
linger  on  the  luxury  of  trying  it.  He  had  suspected 
lately  that  Rodney  Temple  knew  more  of  his 
situation  than  he  had  ever  told  him,  so  that  the  way 
to  speak  ou».  would  be  cleared  in  advance;  and  as 
for  the  man  of  the  name  of  Davenant — probably 
Tom  Davenant's  adopted  son,  who  was  said  to  have 
pulled  off  some  good  things  a  few  years  ago — there 
would  be,  in  humbling  himself  before  one  so  success- 
ful, a  morbid  joy  of  the  kind  the  devotee  may  get 
in  being  crushed  by  an  idol. 

In  this  he  was  not  mistaken.  While  they  were 
there  he  was  able  to  draw  from  his  own  speeches, 
covert  or  open,  the  relief  that  comes  to  a  man  in 
pain  from  moaning.  Now  that  they  were  gone, 
however,  the  last  extraneous  incident  that  could 
possibly  stand  between  him  and  the  beginning  of  the 
end  had  passed.  The  moment  he  had  foreseen,  as 
one  foresees  death,  was  on  him;  so,  raising  his  head 
from  the  woodwork  of  the  doorway,  he  braced  him- 
self, and  said,  "Now I" 

At  almost  the  same  Instant  he  heard  the  rustle 
of  his  daughter's  skirts  as  she  came  from  the  drawing- 
room  on  her  way  up-stairs.  She  advanced  slowly 
down  the  broad  hall,  the  lights  striking  iridescent 
rays  from  the  trimmings  of  her  dress.  The  long 
^r^ain,  adding  to  her  height,  enhanced  her  graceful- 
ness. Only  that  curious  deadness  of  sensation  of 
which  he  had  been  aware  all  day — the  inability  to 
feel  any  more  that  comes  from  too  much  suffenng — 

53 


M- 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

enabled  him  to  keep  his  ground  before  her.  He  did 
keep  it,  advancing  from  the  doorway  two  or  three 
steps  toward  her,  till  they  met  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairway. 

"Have  you  enjoyed  your  evening?"  were  the 
words  he  found  himself  saying,  though  they  were  far 
from  those  he  had  at  heart.  He  felt  that  his  smile 
was  ghastly;  but,  as  she  seemed  not  to  perceive  it, 
he  drew  the  conclusion  that  the  ghastliness  was 
within. 

She  answered  languidly.  "Yes,  so  so.  It  might 
have  been  pleasanter  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  awful 
man." 

"Who.?  Young  Davenant.?  I  don't  see  anything 
awful  about  him." 

"I  dare  say  there  isn't,  really — in  his  pla>  He 
may  be  only  prosy.  However,"  she  added,  more 
brightly,  "it  doesn't  matter  for  once.  Good  night, 
papa  dear.  You  look  tired.  You  ought  to  go  to 
bed.  I've  seen  to  the  windows  in  the  drawing-room, 
but  I  haven't  put  out  the  lights." 

Having  kissed  him  and  patted  him  on  the  cheek, 
she  turned  to  go  up  the  stairway.  He  allowed  her 
to  ascend  a  step  or  two.     It  was  the  minute  to  speak. 

"I'm  sorry  you  feel  that  way  about  young  Dave- 
nant.     I  rather  like  him." 

He  had  not  chosen  the  words.  They  came  out 
automatically.  To  discuss  Davenant  offered  an 
excuse  for  detaining  her,  while  postponing  the  blow 
for  a  few  minutes  more. 

"Oh,  men  would,"  she  said,  indifferently,  without 
turning  round.     "He's  their  style." 

54 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Which  is  to  his  discredit?" 
,    "Not  to  his  discredit,  but  to  his  disadvantage, 
I've  noticed  that  what  they  call  a  man's  man  is 
generally  something  of  a  bore." 

"Davenant  isn't  a  bore." 

"Isn't  he?  Well,  I  really  didn't  notice  in  par- 
ticular. I  only  remember  that  he  used  to  be  about 
here  years  ago — and  I  didn't  like  him.  I  suppose 
Drusilla  has  to  be  civil  to  him  because  he  was 
Cousin  Rodney's  ward." 

She  had  paused  on  the  landing  at  the  angle  of  the 
staircase. 

"He's  good-looking,"  Guion  said,  in  continued 
effort  to  interpose  the  trivial  between  himself  and 
what  he  had  still  to  tell  her. 

"Oh,  that  sort  of  Saxon  giant  type  is  always  good- 
looking.     Of  course.     And  dull  too." 

"I  dare  say  he  isn't  as  dull  as  )'ou  think." 

"He  might  be  that,  and  still  remain  pretty  dull, 
after  the  allowances  had  been  made.  I  know  the 
type.  It's  awful— especially  in  the  form  of  the 
American  man  of  business." 

"I'm  an  American  man  of  business  myself." 

"Yes;  by  misadventure.  You're  the  business  man 
rnade,  but  not  born.  By  nature  you're  a  boulevar- 
dier,  or  what  the  newspapers  call  a  'clubman.'  I 
admire  you  more  than  I  can  sav — everybody  admires 
you — for  making  such  a  success  of  a  work  that  must 
always  have  been  uncongenial  at  the  least." 

The  opening  was  obvious.  Nothing  could  have 
been  more  opportune.  Two  or  three  beginnings  pre- 
sented themselves,  and  as  he  hesitated,  choosing  be- 

55 


i 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

tween  them,  he  moistened  his  Hps  and  wiped  the  cold 
perspiration  from  his  brow.  After  all,  the  blessed 
apathy  within  him  was  giving  way  and  going  to 
play  him  false!  He  had  a  minute  of  feeling  as  the 
condemned  man  must  feel  when  he  catches  sight  of 
the  guillotine. 

Before  his  parched  tongue  could  formulate  syl- 
lables she  mounted  another  step  or  two  of  the  stair- 
case, and  turned  again,  leaning  on  the  banister  and 
looking  over.  He  noticed — by  a  common  trick  of 
the  perceptive  powers  at  crises  of  anguish — how  the 
slender  white  pilasters,  carved  and  twisted  in  sets  of 
four,  in  the  fashion  of  Georgian  houses  like  Tory  Hill, 
made  quaint,  graceful  lines  up  and  down  the  front 
of  her  black  gown. 

"It's  really  true — what  I  say  about  business, 
papa,"  she  pursued.  "I'm  very  much  in  earnest, 
and  so  is  Rupert.  I  do  wish  you'd  think  of  that 
place  near  Heneage.  It  will  be  so  lovely  for  me  to 
feel  you're  there;  and  there  can't  be  any  reason  for 
your  going  on  working  any  longer." 

"No;  there's  no  reason  for  that,"  he  managed 
to  say. 

"Well  then  ?"shedemanded,  with  an  air  of  triumph. 
"It's  just  as  I  said.  You  owe  it  to  every  one,  you 
owe  it  to  me,  you  owe  it  to  yourself  above  all,  to 
give  up.  It  might  have  been  better  if  you'd  done 
it  long  ago." 

"I  couldn't,"  he  declared,  in  a  tone  that  sounded 
to  his  own  ears  as  a  cry.  "  I  tried  to,  .  .  .  but  things 
were  so  involved  .  .  .  almost  from  the  first.  .  .  ." 

"Well,  as  long  as  they're  not  involved  now  there's 

56 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


no  reason  why  it  shouldn't  be  better  late  than  never." 

"But  they  are  involved  now,"  he  said,  with  an 
intensity  so  poignant  that  he  was  surprised  she 
didn't  notice  it. 

"Then  straighten  them  out.  Isn't  that  what 
we've  been  saying  all  along.  Cousin  Rodney  and 
I  ?  Take  a  partner ;  take  two  partners.  Cousin 
Rodney  says  you  should  have  done  it  when  Mr. 
Maxwell  died,  or  before — " 

"I  couldn't.  .  .  .  Things  weren't  shipshape  enough 
.  .  .  not  even  then." 

"I'm  sure  it  could  be  managed,"  she  asserted, 
confidently;  "and  if  you  don't  do  it  now,  papa,  when 
I'm  being  married  and  going  away  for  good,  you'll 
never  do  it  at  all.  That's  my  fear.  I  don't  want  to 
live  over  there  without  you,  papa;  and  I'm  afraid 
that's  what  you're  going  to  let  me  in  for."  She 
moved  from  the  banister,  and  continued  her  way  up- 
ward, speaking  over  her  shoulder  as  she  ascended. 
"In  the  mean  time,  you  really  must  go  to  bed.  You 
look  tired  and  rather  pale — ^just  as  I  do  after  a  dull 
party.     Good  night;  and  dont  stay  up." 

She  reached  the  floor  above,  and  went  toward  her 
room.  He  felt  strangled,  speechless.  There  was  a 
sense  of  terror  too  in  the  thought  that  his  nerve,  the 
nerve  on  which  he  had  counted  so  much,  was  going 
to  fail  him. 

"Olivia!" 

His  voice  was  so  sharp  that  she  hurried  back  to 
the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"What  is  it,  papa?    Aren't  you  well?" 

It  was  the  sight  of  her  face,  anxious  and  sud- 

57 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

denly  white,  peering  down  through  the  half-Hght  of 
the  hall  that  finally  unmanned  him.  With  a  heart- 
sick feeling  he  turned  away  from  the  stairway. 

"Yes;  I'm  all  right.  I  only  wanted  you  to  know 
.  .  .  that  .  .  .  that  .  .  .1  shall  be  working  rather  late. 
You  mustn't  be  disturbed  .  .  .  if  you  hear  me  moving 
about." 

He  would  have  upbraided  himself  more  bitterly 
for  his  cowardice  had  he  not  found  an  excuse  in  the 
thought  that,  after  all,  there  would  be  time  in  the 
morning.  It  was  best  that  she  should  have  the 
refreshment  of  the  night.  The  one  thing  important 
was  that  she  should  not  have  the  shock  of  learning 
from  others  on  the  morrow  that  he  was  not  coming 
back — that  he  was  going  to  Singville.  Should  he 
go  there  at  all,  he  was  determined  to  stay.  Since  he 
had  no  fight  to  put  up,  it  was  better  that  his  going 
should  be  once  for  all.  The  thought  of  weeks,  of 
months,  perhaps,  of  quasi-freedom,  during  which  he 
should  be  parading  himself  "on  bail,"  was  far  more 
terrible  to  him  than  that  of  prison.  He  must  pre- 
pare her  for  the  beginning  of  his  doom  at  all  costs 
to  himself;  but,  he  reasoned,  she  would  be  more  ca- 
pable of  taking  the  information  calmly  in  the  daylight 
of  the  morning  thannow,at  a  few  minutes  of  midnight. 

It  was  another  short  reprieve,  enabling  him  to 
givt'  all  his  attention  to  the  tasks  before  him.  If  he 
was  not  to  come  back  to  Tory  Hill  he  must  leave  his 
private  papers  there,  his  more  intimate  treasures, 
in  good  order.  Certain  things  wouM  have  to  be 
put  awav,  others  rearranged,  others  destroyed.  For 
the  most  part  they  were  in  the  library,  the  room  he 

n8 


■<?■*»,•: 


'PrA. 


an*v*^r.a"rii;r,T.s 


iisr- 


>.<%/>. 


riiE  STR I': F/r  called  straight 

spt-cially  claimed  as  his  own.  Before  setting  him- 
self to  the  work  there  he  walked  through  some  of 
the  other  rooms,  turning  out  the  hghts. 

In  doing  so  he  was  consciously  taking  a  farewell. 
He  had  heen  horn  in  this  house;  in  it  he  had  spent 
his  hoyhood;  to  it  he  had  come  back  as  a  young  mar- 
ried man.  He  had  lived  in  it  till  his  wife  and  he  had 
set  up  their  more  ambitious  establishment  in  Boston, 
an  extravagance  from  which,  perhaps,  all  the  sub- 
sequent misfortunes  could  be  dated.  He  had  known 
at  the  time  that  his  father,  had  he  lived,  would  have 
condemned  the  step;  but  he  himself  was  a  believer 
in  fortunate  chances.  Besides,  it  was  preposterous 
for  a  young  couple  of  fashion  to  continue  living  in  a 
rambling  old  house  that  belonged  to  neither  town 
nor  country,  at  a  time  when  the  whole  trend  of  life 
was  cityward.  They  had  discussed  the  move,  with  its 
large  increase  of  expenditure,  from  every  point  of 
view,  and  found  it  one  from  which,  in  their  social 
position,  there  was  no  escape.  It  was  a  matter 
about  which  they  had  hardly  any  choice. 

So,  too,  a  few  years  later,  with  the  taking  of  the 
cottage  at  Newport.  It  was  forced  on  them.  When 
all  their  friends  were  doing  something  of  the  sort 
it  seemed  absurd  to  hesitate  because  of  a  mere  matter 
oi  means — especially  when  by  hook  or  by  crook  the 
means  could  be  procured.  Similar  reasoning  had  at- 
tended their  various  residences  abroad— in  London, 
Paris,  Rome.  Country-houses  in  England  or  villas 
on  the  Riviera  became  matters  of  necessity,  accord- 
ing to  the  demands  of  Olivia's  entry  into  the  world 
of  fashion  or  Mrs.  Guion's  health. 

59 


aHira*^Ber'SjT0s-:£'P«5™r*'  fir-«ar-»i . 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

It  was  not  till  the  death  of  the  latter,  some  seven 
years  ago,  that  Guion,  obliged  to  pause,  was  able 
to  take  cognizance  of  the  degree  to  which  he  had 
imperiled  himself  in  the  years  of  effort  to  maintain 
their  way  of  Hfe.  It  could  not  be  said  that  at  the 
time  he  regretted  what  he  had  done,  but  he  allowed 
it  to  frighten  him  into  some  ineffectual  economies. 
He  exchanged  the  cottage  at  Newport  for  one  at 
Lenox,  and,  giving  up  the  house  in  Boston,  with- 
drew to  Tory  Hill.  Ceasing  himself  to  go  into 
society,  he  sent  his  daughter  abroad  for  a  large 
portion  of  her  time,  either  in  the  care  of  Madame  de 
Melcourt  or,  in  London,  under  the  wing  of  some  of 
the  American  ladies  prominent  in  EngHsh  life. 

Having  taken  these  steps,  with  no  small  pride  in  his 
capacity  for  sacrifice,  Guion  set  himself  seriously  to 
reconstruct  his  own  fortune  and  to  repair  the  in- 
roads he  had  made  on  those  in  his  trust.  It  was  a 
matter  in  which  he  had  but  few  misgivings  as  to  his 
capacity.  The  making  of  money,  he  often  said,  was 
an  easy  thing,  as  could  be  proved  by  the  intellectual 
grade  of  the  men  who  made  it.  One  had  only  to 
look  about  one  to  see  that  they  were  men  in  whom 
the  average  of  ability  was  by  no  means  high,  men 
who  achieved  their  successes  largely  by  a  kind  of 
rule  of  thumb.  They  got  the  knack  of  investment 
— and  they  invested.  He  preferred  the  word  in- 
vestment to  another  which  might  have  challenged 
comment.  They  bought  in  a  low  market  and  sold 
in  a  high  one — and  the  trick  was  done.  Some  in- 
stinct— a  flair,  he  called  it — was  required  in  order 
to  recognize,  more  or  less  at  sight,  those  properties 

60 


~  iT'fi raMMTii' '  i^MiiJiirgii'"rii — ^n— ■ht 


ri^m^maE'''if%ts^ii£*Tm^A::Atsa^ 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

which  would  quickly  and  surely  appreciate  in  value; 
and  he  believed  he  possessed  it.  Given  the  control 
of  a  few  thousands  as  a  point  of  departure,  and 
the  financial  ebb  and  flow,  a  man  must  be  a  born 
fool,  he  said,  not  to  be  able  to  make  a  reasonable 
fortune  with  reasonable  speed. 

Within  the  office  of  Guion,  Maxwell  &  Guion  cir- 
cumstances favored  the  accession  to  power  of  the 
younger  partner,  who  had  hitherto  played  an 
acquiescent  rather  than  an  active  part.  Mr.  Max- 
well was  old  and  ailing,  though  neither  so  ailing  nor 
so  old  as  to  be  blind  to  the  need  of  new  blood,  new 
money,  and  new  influence  in  the  fine  old  firm.  His 
weakness  was  that  he  hated  beginning  all  over  again 
with  new  men;  so  that  when  Smith  and  Jones  were 
proposed  as  possible  partners  he  easily  admitted 
whatever  objections  Guion  raised  to  them,  and  the 
matter  was  postponed.  It  was  postponed  again. 
It  slipped  into  a  chronic  condition  of  postponement; 
and  Mr.  Maxwell  died. 

The  situation  calling  then  fo  adroitness  on 
Guion's  part,  the  fact  that  he  was  able  to  meet  it  to 
the  satisfaction  of  all  the  parties  concerned,  increased 
his  confidence  in  his  own  astuteness.  True,  it  re- 
quired some  manipulation,  some  throwing  of  dust 
into  people's  eyes,  some  making  of  explanations  to 
one  person  that  could  not  be  reconciled  with  those 
made  to  another;  but  here  again  the  circumstances 
helped  him.  His  clients  were  for  the  most  part 
widows  and  old  maids,  many  of  them  resident  abroad, 
for  whom  Guion,  Maxwell  &  Guion  had  so  long  stood, 
in   the  matter  of  income,  for  the  embodiment  of 

6i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

paternal  care  that  they  were  ready  to  believe  any- 
thing and  say  anything'  and  sign  anything  they 
were  told  to.  With  the  legal  authorities  to  whom 
he  owed  account  he  had  the  advantage  of  the  house's 
high  repute,  making  it  possible  to  cover  with  for- 
malities anything  that  might,  strictly  speaking,  have 
called  for  investigation.  Whatever  had  to  be  con- 
sidered shifty  he  excused  to  himself  on  the  ground 
of  its  being  temporary;  while  it  was  clearly,  in  his 
opinion,  to  the  ultimate  advantage  of  the  Clay  heirs 
and  the  Rodman  heirs  and  the  Compton  heirs  and 
all  the  other  heirs  for  whom  Guion,  Maxwell  & 
Ciuion  were  in  loco  parentis^  that  he  should  have  a 
free  hand. 

The  sequel  astonished  rather  than  disillusioned 
him.  It  wrought  in  him  disappointment  with  the 
human  race,  especially  as  represented  by  the  Stock 
Exchange,  without  diminishing  his  confidence  in  his 
own  judgment.  Through  all  his  wild  efforts  not  to 
sink  he  was  upborne  by  the  knowledge  that  it  was 
not  his  calculations  that  were  wrong,  but  the  work- 
ings of  a  system  more  obscure  than  that  of  chance 
and  more  capricious  than  the  weather.  He  grew  to 
consider  it  the  fault  of  the  blind  forces  that  make  up 
the  social,  financial,  and  commercial  worlds,  and  not 
his  own,  when  he  was  reduced  to  a  frantic  fiinging  of 
t^ood  inonev  after  bad  as  ofiering  the  sole  chance  of 
working  out  his  redemption. 

And,  now  that  it  was  all  over,  he  was  glad  his  wife 
had  not  hved  to  see  the  <;nd.  That,  at  least,  had  been 
spared  him.  fie  stood  before  her  portrait  in  the 
drawing-ioom  -the  much-admu'd  portrait  bv  Caro- 

bz 


ss-*2sr-^.j«5''^Ase:.' 


fitT^'i^ai- i'i^ 


riiK  STRiU'/r  (:yiLLEi)_srRyii(;iir 

lus  l)ur;in     :iu<|  tnld  Imt  so.     She  was  so  living  as  she 


looked  down  on  hjin 


»f  refined 


1  NUf^f^estion 

ab()ur  th(;  lips  and  eyes  Kivin^  personality  to  the 
delicate  oval  of  the  Hmv  that  he  felt  himself  talk- 
inn  to  her  as  they  had  Inen  wont  to  talk  together 
ever  since  their  youth.  In  his  way  he  had  stood  in 
awe  of  her.  The;  assumption  of  prerogative  an 
endowment  of  manner  or  of  temperament,  he  was 
never  <|uite  sure  which  inherited  by  Olivia  in  turn, 
had  been  the  dominating  influence  in  their  domestic 
life.  He  had  not  b(;en  ruled  by  her — the  term  would 
have  been  grotesiiue  he  had  only  made  it  his  pleas- 
ure to  carry  out  her  wishes.  That  her  wishes  led 
him  on  to  spending  money  not  his  own  was  due  to 
the  fact,  ever  to  be  regretted,  that  his  father  had  not 
bequeathed  him  money  so  much  as  the  means  of 
earning  it.  She  could  not  be  held  responsible  for 
that,  while  she  was  the  type  of  woman  to  whom  it 
was  something  like  an  outrage  not  to  offer  the  things 
befitting  to  her  station.  There  was  no  reproach 
in  the  look  he  lifted  on  her  now  nothing  but  a  kind 
of  dogged,  perverse  thankfulness  that  she  should  have 
had  the  way  of  life  she  craved,  without  ever  knowing 
the  price  he  was  about  to  pay  for  it. 

In  withdrawing  his  glance  from  hers  he  turned  it 
about  on  the  various  objects  in  the  room.  Many  of 
them  had  stood  in  their  places  since  before  he  was 
born;  others  he  had  acquired  at  occasional  sales  of 
Guion  property,  so  that,  as  the  dift'erent  branches  of 
the  family  became  extinct  or  disappeared,  whatever 
could  be  called  "ancestral"  might  have  a  place  at 
Tory  Hill;  others  he  had  collected  abroad.     All  of 


m 


':j-daatf^^:* 


THE    STREET    CHILLED    STR.IIGIIT 

them,  in  these  moments  of  anguish — the  five  K'ang- 
hsi  vases  on  the  mantelpiece,  brought  home  by  some 
seafaring  Guion  of  Colonial  days,  the  armorial 
"Lowestoft"  in  the  cabinets,  the  Copley  portraits  of 
remote  connections  on  the  walls,  the  bits  of  Chippen- 
dale and  Hepplewhite  that  had  belonged  to  the 
grandfather  who  built  Tory  Hill — all  of  them  took 
on  now  a  kind  of  personality,  as  with  living  look  and 
utterance.  He  had  loved  them  and  been  proud 
of  them;  and  as  he  turned  out  the  lights,  leaving 
them  to  darkness,  eyes  could  not  have  been  more 
appealing  nor  lips  more  eloquent  than  they  in  thei. 
mute  farewell. 

Returning  to  the  library,  he  busied  himself  with 
his  main  undertaking.  He  was  anxious  that  nothing 
should  be  left  behind  that  could  give  Olivia  addi- 
tional pain,  while  whatever  she  might  care  to  have, 
her  mother's  letters  to  himself  or  other  family 
documents,  might  be  ready  to  her  hand.  It  was  the 
kind  of  detail  to  which  he  could  easily  give  his  atten- 
tion. He  worked  methodically  and  phlegmatically, 
steeling  himself  to  a  grim  suppression  of  regret.  He 
was  almost  sorry  to  finish  the  task,  since  it  forced 
his  mind  to  come  again  face  to  face  with  facts.  The 
clock  struck  two  as  he  closed  the  last  drawer  and 
knew  that  that  part  of  his  preparation  was  com- 
pleted. 

In  reading  the  old  letters  with  their  echoes  of  old 
incidents,  old  joys,  old  jokes,  old  days  in  Paris, 
Rome,  or  England,  he  had  been  so  wafted  back  to 
another  time  that  on  pushing  in  the  drawer,  which 
closed  with  a  certain  click  of  finality,  the  realization 

64 


rilE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGIIT 

of  the  present  rolled  back  on  his  soul  with  a  curious 
effect  of  amazement.     For  a  few  minutes  it  was  as 
if  he  had  never  understood  it,  never  thought  of  it, 
before,      fhey    were    going    to    make    him,    Henry 
Cjuion,  a  prisoner,  a  criminal,  a  convict!     They  were 
gomg  to  clip  his  hair,  and  shave  his  beard,  and  dress 
him  in  a  hideous  garb,  and  shut  him  in  a  cell !     They 
were  going  to  give  him  degrading  work  to  do  and 
degrading  rules  to  keep,  and  degrading  associates 
to  live  with,  as  far  as  such  existence-  could  be  called 
living  with  any  one  at  all.     They  were  going  to  do 
this  for  year  upon  year,  all  the  rest  of  his  life,  since 
he  never  could  survive  it.     He  was  to  have  nothing 
any  more  to  come  in  between  him  and  his  own 
thoughts— his   thoughts   of  Olivia   brought   to   dis- 
grace, of  the  Clay  heirs  brought  to  want,  of  the 
Rodman  heirs  and  the  Compton  heirs  deprived  of 
half  their  livelihood!     He  had  called  it  that  evening 
the  Strange  Ride  with  Morrowby  Jukes  to  the  Land 
ot  the  Living'  Dead,  but  it  was  to  be  worse  than  that 
It  was  to  be  worse  than  Macbeth  with  his  visions  of 
remorse;  it  was  to  be  worse  than  Vathek  with  the 
flame  burning  in  his  heart;  it  was  to  be  worse  than 
Judas— who  at  least  could  hang  himself. 

He  got  up  and  went  to  a  mirror  in  the  corner  of 
the  room.  The  mere  sight  of  himself  made  the  im- 
possible seem  more  impossible.  He  was  so  fine  a 
specimen— he  could  not  but  know  it!  -so  much  the 
tree  man,  the  !ionorable  man,  the  man  of  the  world' 
He  tried  to  sec  himself  with  his  hair  cHpped  and  his 
beard  shaven  and  the  white  cravat  and  waistcoat 
replaced  by  the  harle(iuin  costume  of  the  jailbird. 
5  65 


':'=♦     3-'>   : 


^^T 


■WflS^ 


Til  E  ^ZMKLJkUjltMl\JiLM  'SjJH 

He  tried  to  see  hitikself  making  his  own  hixl,  and 
scrubbiiig  his  own  floor,  and  standing  a;  his  cell  door 
with  a  tin  pot  in  his  hand,  waiting  for  his  skilly. 
It  was  so  absurd,  so  out  of  the  question,  that  he 
nearly  laughed  outright.  He  was  in  a  dream— in  a 
nightmare!  He  shook  himself,  he  pinched  himself, 
in  order  to  wake  up.  He  was  ready  in  sudden  rage 
to  curse  the  handsome,  familiar  room  for  the  per- 
s'Jtence  of  its  reality,  because  the  rows  of  books  and 
the  Baxter  prints  and  the  desks  and  chairs  and  elec- 
tric lights  refused  to  melt  away  like  things  in  a 
troubled  sleep. 

It  was  then  that  for  the  first  time  he  began  to 
taste  the  real  measure  of  his  impotence.  He  was 
in  the  hand  of  the  law.  He  was  in  the  grip  of  the 
sternest  avenging  forces  human  society  could  set 
in  motion  against  him;  and,  quibbles,  shifts,  and 
subterfuges  swept  aside,  no  one  knew  better  than 
himself  that  his  punishment  would  be  just. 

It  was  a  strange  feeling,  the  feeling  of  having  put 
himself  outside  the  scope  of  mercy.  But  there  he 
was!  There  could  never  be  a  word  spoken  in  his 
defense,  nor  in  any  one's  heart  a  throb  of  sympathy 
toward  him.  He  had  forfeited  everything.  He  could 
expect  nothing  from  any  man,  and  from  his  daugh- 
ter least  of  all.  The  utmost  he  could  ask  for  her  was 
that  she  should  marry,  go  away,  and  school  herself 
as  nearly  as  might  be  to  renounce  him.  That  she 
should  do  it  utterly  would  not  be  possible:  but  sorne- 
thing  would  be  accomplished  if  pride  or  humilia- 
tion or  resentment  gave  her  the  spirit  to  carry  her 
head  high  and  ignore  his  existence. 


rM^m 


%m 


TM^AT^J^F'F'T    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

It  was  incredible  to  think  that  at  that  vciy  in- 
stant she  was  sleeping  quietly,  without  a  suspicion 
of  what  was  awaiting  her.  Everything  was  in- 
credible—incredible and  impossible.  As  he  looked 
around  the  room,  in  which  every  book,  every  photo- 
graph, every  pen  and  pencil,  was  a  part  of  him,  he 
found  himself  once  more  t»^raining  for  a  hope,  catch- 
in*-  at  straws.  He  took  a  shoet  of  paper,  and 
down  at  his  desk  began  again,  for  the  ten 
dth  time,  to  balance  feverishly  his  meagn' 
gainst    his    overwhelming    liabilities.     He 

^  '  .nd  subtracted  and  multiplied  and  divided 
•  :  ;  sort  of  frenzy,  as  though  by  dint  of  sheer 
'  'i  i  -  the  figures  he  could  make  them  respond  ro 
!       vill. 

;.  .  Idenly,  with  a  gesture  of  mingled  anger  and 
;..pciessness,  he  swept  the  scribbled  sheets  and  all 
the  writing  paraphernalia  with  a  crash  to  the  floor, 
and,  burying  his  face  in  his  bands,  gave  utterance 
to  a  smothered  groan.  It  was  a  cry,not  of  surrender, 
but  of  protest—  of  infinite,  exasperated  protest,  of 
protest  against  fate  and  law  and  judgment  and  the 
eternal  principles  of  right  and  wrong,  and  against 
himself  most  of  all.  With  his  head  pressed  down  on 
the  bare  polished  wood  of  his  desk,  he  hurled  himself 
mentally  at  an  earth  of  adamant  and  a  heaven  of 
brass,  hurled  himself  ferociously,  repeatedly,  with  a 
kind  of  doggedness,  as  though  he  would  either  break 
them  down  or  dash  his  own  soul  to  pieces. 

"OGod!    OGod!" 

It  was  an  involuntary  moan,  stifled  in  his  fear 
of  becoming  hystcricr.!,   but    its    s)  tables   arrested 

67 


3S«*-. 


PP«H 


r  ! 


Bi' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRA: GHT 

his  attention.  They  were  the  syllables  of  primal 
articulation,  of  primal  need,  condensing  the  appeal 
and  the  aspiration  of  the  world.     He  repeated  them: 

"O  God!    O  God!" 

He  repeated  them  again.  He  raised  his  head,  as 
if  listening  to  a  voice. 

"O  God!    O  God!" 

He  continued  to  sit  thus,  as  if  listening. 

It  was  a  strange,  an  astounding  thought  to  him 
that  he  might  pray.  Though  the  earth  of  adamant 
were  unyielding,  the  heaven  of  brass  might  give 
way! 

He  dragged  himself  to  his  feet. 

He  believed  in  God— vaguely.  That  is,  it  had 
always  been  a  matter  of  good  form  with  him  to  go  to 
church  and  to  call  for  the  offices  of  religion  on  occa- 
sions of  death  or  marriage.  He  had  assisted  at  the 
saying  of  prayers  and  assented  to  their  contents. 
He  had  even  joined  in  them  himself,  since  a  liturgical 
service  was  a  principle  in  the  church  to  which  he 
"belonged."  AH  this,  however,  had  seemed  re- 
mote from  his  personal  affairs,  his  life-and-death 
struggles — till  now.  Now,  all  at  once,  queerly,  it 
offered  him  something — he  knew  not  what.  It 
might  be  nothing  better  than  any  of  the  straws  he 
had  been  clutching  at.  It  might  be  no  more  than  the 
effort  he  bar"  just  been  making  to  compel  two  to 
balance  v^n. 

He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  under  the 
cluster  of  electric  lights  and  tried  to  recollect  what  he 
knew,  what  he  had  heard,  of  this  Power  that  could 
still   act   when    human    strength    had    reached    its 

68 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

limitations.  It  was  nothing  very  definite.  It  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  great  phrases,  imperfectly  under- 
stood: "  Father  Almighty,"  "  Saviour  of  the  World," 
"Divme  Compassion  "and  such  like.  He  did  not 
reason  about  them,  or  try  to  formulate  what  he 
actually  believed.  It  was  instinctively,  almost  un- 
consciously, that  he  began  to  speak;  it  was  brokenly 
and  with  a  kind  of  inward,  spiritual  hoarseness.  He 
scarcely  knew  what  he  was  doing  when  he  found 
himself  saying,  mentally: 

"Save  me!  .  .  .  .  I'm  helpless!  ....  I'm  desper- 
ate! ....  Save  me!  ...  .  Work  a  miracle!  .... 
Father!  ....  Christ!  Christ!  Save  my  daugh- 
ter! ....  We  have  no  one — but — but  You!  .... 
Work  a  miracle!  Work  a  miracle!  ....  I'm  a  thief 
and  a  liar  and  a  traitor  —  but  save  me!  I  might  do 
something  yet— something  that  might  re.ider  me — 
worth  salvation— but  then— I  might  not Any- 
how, save  me!  ...  .  OGod!    Father  Almighty! 

Almighty!  That  means  that  You  can  do  anything! 
....  Even  now  —  You  can  do  —  anything!  .... 
Save  us!  ...  .  Save  us  all!  ...  .  Christ!  Christ! 
Christ!'* 

He  knew  neither  when  nor  how  he  ceased,  any 
more  than  when  or  how  he  began.  His  most  clearly 
defined  impression  was  that  of  his  spirit  coming  back 
from  a  long  \yay  oflF  to  take  perception  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  still  standing  under  the  cluster  of  electric 
lights  and  the  clock  was  striking  three.  He  was 
breathless,  exhausted.  His  most  urgent  physical 
need  was  that  of  air.     He  strode  to  the  window- 

09 


-tf.^-r-^ 


.am 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

door  leading  out  to  the  terraced  lawn,  and,  throwing 
it  open,  passed  out  into  the  darkness. 

There  was  no  mist  at  this  height  above  the  Charles. 
The  night  was  still,  and  the  moon  westering.  The 
light  had  a  glimmering,  metallic  essence,  as  from  a 
cosmic  mirror  in  the  firmament.  Long  shadows  of 
trees  and  shrubbery  lay  across  the  grass.  Clear 
in  the  moonlit  foreground  stood  an  elm,  the  pride 
of  Tory  Hill — springing  as  a  single  shaft  for  twice  the 
measure  of  a  man — springing  and  spreading  there 
into  four  giant  branches,  each  of  which  sprang  and 
spread  higher  into  eight — so  springing  and  spread- 
ing, springing  and  spreading  still — rounded,  symme- 
trical, superb — till  the  long  outermost  shoots  fell 
pendulous,  like  spray  from  a  fountain  of  verdure. 
Th*^  silence  held  the  suggestion  of  mighty  spiritual 
things  astir.  At  least  the  heaven  was  not  of  brass, 
if  the  earth  continued  to  be  of  adamant.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  sky  was  high,  soft,  dim,  star-bestrewn, 
ineffable.  It  was  spacious;  it  was  free;  it  was  the 
home  of  glorious  things;  it  was  the  medium  of  the 
eternal. 

He  was  not  reassured;  he  was  not  even  comforted; 
what  relief  he  got  came  only  from  a  feeling — a 
fancy,  perhaps— that  the  weight  had  been  eased, 
that  he  was  freed  for  a  minute  from  the  crushing 
pressure  of  the  inevituble.  It  would  return  again 
and  break  him  down,  but  for  the  moment  it  was  lifted, 
giving  him  room  and  power  to  breathe.  He  did 
breathe — long  deep  draughts  of  the  cool  night  air 
that  brought  refreshment  and  something  Hke  strength 

to  struggle  on. 

70 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  came  back  into  the  room.  His  pens  and  papers 
were  scattered  on  the  floor,  and  ink  from  the  over- 
turned inkstand  was  running  out  on  the  Oriental 
rug.  It  was  the  kind  of  detail  that  before  this  even- 
mg  would  have  shocked  him;  but  nothing  mattered 
now.  He  was  too  indifferent  to  Hft  his  hand  and  put 
the  inkstand  back  into  its  place.  Instead,  he  threw 
himself  on  a  couch,  turning  his  face  to  the  still  open 
wmdow  and  drinking  in  with  thirsty  gasps  the 
blessed,  revivifying  air. 


is^r^ 


^OSi^U^ON  awoke  in  a  chill,  gray  light,  t 
j""n  find  himself  covered  with  a  rug,  and  hi 


ML 


to 

is 
daughter,  wrapped  in  a  white  dressing- 
gown,  bending  above  him.  Over  her 
shoulder  peered  the  scared  face  of  a 
maid.  His  first  sensation  was  that  he 
was  cold,  his  first  act  to  pull  the  rug  more  closely 
about  him.  His  struggle  back  to  waking  con- 
sciousness was  the  more  confused  because  of  the 
familiar  surroundings  of  the  library. 
"Oh,  papa,  what's  the  matter?" 
He  threw  the  coverlet  from  him  and  dragged  him- 
self to  a  sitting  posture. 

"What  time  is  it?"  he  asked,  rubbing  his  eyes. 
"  I  must  have  dropped  off  to  sleep.  Is  dinner  ready  ?" 
"It's  half-past  six  in  the  morning,  papa  dear. 
Katie  found  you  here  when  she  came  in  to  dust  the 
room.  The  window  was  wide  open  and  all  these 
things  strewn  about  the  floor.  She  put  the  rug  on 
you  and  came  to  wake  me.  What  is  it?  What's 
happened?     Let  me  send  for  the  doctor." 

With  his  elbow  on  his  knee,  he  rested  his  forehead 
on  his  hand.  The  incidents  of  the  night  came  back 
to  him.  Olivia  seated  herself  on  the  couch  beside 
him,  an  arm  across  his  shoulder. 

72 


TIIEJ^TREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


<( 


I'm  cold,"  was  all  he  said. 
"  Katie,  j^o  and  mix  something  hot — some  whisky 
or  brandy  and  hot  water—anything!    And  you,  papa 
dear,  go  to  bed.   I'll  call  Reynolds  and  he'll  help  you." 
"I'm  cold,"  he  said  again. 

Rising,  he  crawled  to  the  mirror  into  which  he  had 
l()oked  last  night,  shuddering  at  sight  of  his  own  face. 
The  mere  fact  that  he  was  still  in  his  evening  clothes, 
the  white  waistcoat  wrinkled  and  the  cravat  awry, 
shocked  him  inexpressibly. 

"I'm  cold,"  he  said  for  the  third  time. 
But  when  he  had  bathed,  dressed,  and  begun  his 
breakfast,  the  chill  left  him.  He  regained  the 
mastery  of  his  thoughts  and  the  understanding  of  his 
position.  A  certain  exaltation  of  sutFering  which 
had  upheld  him  during  the  previous  night  failed  him, 
however,  now,  leaving  nothing  but  a  sense  of  flat, 
commonplace  misery.  Thrown  into  relief  by  the 
daylight,  the  facts  were  more  relentless — not  easier 
of  acceptance. 

As  he  drank  his  coffee  and  trie<'  to  eat  he  could 
feel  his  daughter  watching  him  riom  the  other  end 
of  the  table.  Now  and  then  he  screened  himself 
from  her  gaze  by  pretending  to  skim  the  morning 
paper.  Once  he  was  startled.  Reflected  in  the 
glass  of  a  picture  hanging  on  the  opposite  wall  he 
caught  tiie  image  of  a  man  in  a  blue  uniform,  who 
mounted  the  steps  and  rang  the  door-bell. 

"Who's  that.'"  he  asked,  sharply.  He  dared  not 
turn  round  to  see. 

"It's  only  the  postman,  papa  darling.  Who  else 
should  it  be.'" 

7i 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGH T 

"'Yes;  of  course."  He  breathed  again.  "You 
mustn't  mind  me,  dear.  I'm  nervous.  I'm — I'm 
not  very  well." 

"I  see  you're  not,  papa.  -I  saw  it  last  night.  I 
knew  something  was  wrong." 

"There's  something — very  wrong." 

"What  is  it?    Tell  me." 

Leaning  on  the  table,  with  clasped  hands  up- 
lifted, the  loose  white  lace  sleeves  falling  away  from 
her  slender  wrists,  she  looked  at  him  pleadingly. 

"We've — that  is,  I've — lost  a  great  deal  of  money." 

"Oh!"  The  sound  was  just  above  her  breath. 
Then,  after  long  silence,  she  asked:  "Is  it  much.?" 

He  waited  before  replying,  seeking,  for  the  last 
time,  some  mitigation  of  what  he  had  to  tell  her. 

"It's  all  we  have." 

"Oh!"  It  was  the  same  sound  as  before,  just 
audible — a  sound  with  a  little  surprise  in  it,  a  hint 
of  something  awed,  but  without  dismay. 

He  forced  himself  to  take  a  few  sips  of  coffee  and 
crumble  a  bit  of  toast. 

"I  don't  mind,  papa.  If  that's  what's  troubling 
you  so  much,  don't  let  it  any  longer.  Worse  things 
have  happened  than  that."  He  gulped  down  more 
coffee,  not  because  he  wanted  it,  but  to  counteract 
the  rising  in  his  throat.  "Shall  we  have  to  lose 
Tory  Hill.'"  she  asked,  after  another  silence. 

He  nodded  an  affirmative,  with  his  head  down. 

"Then  you  mean  me  to  understand  what  you  said 
just  now — quite  literally.     We've  lost  all  we  have." 

"When  everything  is  settled,"  he  explained,  with 
an  effort,  "we  shall  have  nothing  at  all.     It  will  be 

74 


THE    STREET_CJJJ^ED    STRAIGHT 

worse  than  that,  since  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  pay  all 
I  owe." 

"Yes;  that  is  worse,"  she  assented,  quietly. 

Another  silence  was  broken  by  his  saying,  hoarsely: 

"You'll  get  married  -" 

"That  will  have  to  be  reconsidered." 

"Do  you  mean — on  your  part?" 

"I  suppose  I  mean — on  everybody's  part.?" 

"Do  you  think  he  would  want  to—jou  must 
excuse  the  crudity  of  the  question— do  you  think  he 
would  want  to  back  out?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  could  answer  that.  It  isn't 
quite  to  the  point.  Backing  out,  as  you  call  it, 
wouldn't  be  the  process— whatever  happened." 

He  interrupted  her  nervously.  "If  this  should 
fall  through,  dear,  you  must  write  to  your  Aunt  Vic. 
You  must  eat  humble  pie.  You  were  too  toplofty 
with  her  as  it  was.  She'll  take  you." 
^  "Take  me,  papa  ?  Why  shouldn't  I  stay  with  you ? 
I'd  much  rather." 

He  tried  to  explain.  It  was  clearly  the  moment 
at  which  to  do  it. 

"I  don't  think  you  understand,  dear,  how  en- 
tirely evenrthing  has  gone  to  smash.  I  shall 
probably— I  may  say,  certainly— I  shall  have  to— 
to  go— " 

"I  do  understand  that.  But  it  often  happens— 
especially  in  this  country— that  things  go  to  smash, 
and  then  the  people  begin  again.  There  was  Lulu 
Sentner's  father.  They  lost  everything  they  had 
—and  she  and  her  sisters  did  dressmaking.  But 
he  borrowed  money,  and   started   in  from  the  be- 

75 


I 


i 


I 


r//£    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

ginning,  and  now  they're  very  well  off  once  more. 
It's  the  kind  of  thing  one  hears  of  constantly— in 
this  country." 

"You  couldn't  hear  of  it  in  my  case,  dear,  because 
—well,  because  I've  done  all  that.  I've  begun 
again,  and  begun  again.  I've  used  up  all  my  credit 
—all  my  chances.  The  things  I  counted  on  didn't 
come  off.  You  know  that  that  happens  some- 
times, don't  you? — ^without  any  one  being  to  blame 
at  all?" 

She  nodded.     " I  think  I've  heard  so." 

"And  now,"  he  went  on,  eager  that  she  should 
begin  to  see  what  he  was  leading  her  up  to— -"and 
now  I  couldn't  borrow  a  thousand  dollars  in  all 
Boston,  unless  it  was  from  some  one  who  gave  it 
to  me  as  a  charity.  I've  borrowed  from  every  one 
— every  penny  for  which  I  could  offer  security — and 
I  owe — I  owe  hundreds  of  thousands.  Do  you 
see  now  how  bad  it  is?" 

"I  do  see  how  bad  it  is,  papa.  I  admit  it's  worse 
than  I  thought.  But  all  the  same  I  know  that  when 
people  have  high  reputations  other  people  trust 
them  and  help  them  through.  Banks  do  it,  don't 
they?  Isn't  that  partly  what  they're  for?  It  was 
Pierpoint  &  Hargous  who  helped  Lulu  Sentner's 
father.  They  stood  behind  him.  She  told  me  so. 
I'm  positive  that  with  your  name  they'd  do  as  much 
for  you.  You  take  a  gloomy  outlook  because 
you're  ill.  But  there's  no  one  in  Boston — no  one 
in  New  England — more  esteemed  or  trusted.  When 
one  can  say,  'All  is  lost  save  honor,'  then,  relatively 
speaking,  there's  very  little  lost  at  all." 

76 


'isi 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

ffe  got  up  from  the  table  and  went  to  his  room. 
After  these  words  it  was  physically  impossible  for 
him  to  tell  her  anything  more.  He  had  thought  of 
a  means  which  might  bring  the  fact  home  to  her 
through  the  day  by  a  process  of  suggestion.  Pack- 
ing a  small  bag  with  toilet  articles  and  other  neces- 
saries, he  left  it  in  a  conspicuous  place. 

"I  want  Reynolds  to  give  it  to  my  messenger 
in  case  I  send  for  it,"  he  explained  to  her,  when  he 
had   descended   to  the  dining-room  again. 

She  was  still  sitting  where  he  left  her,  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  pale,  pensive,  but  not  otherwise  dis- 
turbed. 

"Does  that  mean  that  you're  not  coming  home 
to-night.?" 

"I— I  don't  know.  Things  may  happen  to— 
to  prevent  me." 

"Where  should  you  go.?— to  New  York?" 

"No;  not  to  New  York." 

He  half  hoped  she  would  press  the  question,  but 
when  she  spoke  it  was  only  to  say: 

"I  hope  you'll  try  to  come  home,  because  I'm 
sure  you're  not  well.  Of  course  I  understand  it, 
now  I  know  you've  had  so  much  to  upset  you. 
But  I  wish  you'd  see  Dr.  Scott.  And,  papa,"  she 
added,  rising,  "don't  have  me  on  your  mind- 
please  don't.  I'm  quite  capable  of  facing  the  world 
without  money.  You  mayn't  believe  it,  but  I 
am.  I  could  do  it— somehow.  I'm  like  you. 
I've  a  great  deal  of  self-reliance,  and  a  great  deal  of 
something  else— I  don't  quite  know  what— that  has 
never  been  taxed  or  called  on.     It  may  be  pride, 

77 


THE    S TREET    CALLED    STRJ^fCriT 

but  it  isn't  only  pride.  Whatever  it  is,  I'm  strong 
enough  to  hear  a  lot  of  trouble.  I  don't  want  you 
to  think  of  me  at  all  in  any  way  that  will  worry 

you."  J 

She  was  making  it  so  hard  for  him  that  he  kissed 
her  hastily  and  went  away.  Her  further  enlighten- 
ment was  one  more  detail  that  he  must  leave,  as  he 
had  left  so  much  else,  to  fate  or  God  to  take  care 
of.     For  the  present  he  himself  had  all  he  could 

attend  to. 

Half-way  to  the  gate  he  turned   to  take  what 
might   prove   his   last   look   at   the   old   house.     It 
stood  on  the  summit  of  a  low,  rounded  hill,  on  tlie 
site  made  historic  as  the  country  residence  of  Gover- 
nor Rodney.     Governor  Rodney's  "Mansion"  hav- 
ing been  sacked  in  the  Revohition  by   his  fellow- 
townsmen,   the   neighborhood   fell    for  a   time   into 
disrepute    under    the    contemptuous    nickname    of 
Tory  Hill.     On  the  restoration  of  order  the  property 
passed  by  purchase  to  the  Guions,  in  whose  hands, 
with  a  continuity  not  customary  in  America,  it  had 
remained.     The    present    house,    built    by    Andrew 
Guion,  on  the  foundations  of  the  Rodney  Mansion, 
in  the  early  nineteenth  century,  was  old  enoug'i  ac- 
cording  to  New   England   standards   to  be   vener- 
able;  and,    though   most  of  the  ground    originaMv 
about  it  had  long  ago  been  sold  off  in  building-lots, 
enough   remained   to  give  an  impression  of  ample 
outdoor  space.     Against   the   blue  of  the  October 
morning  sky  the  house,  with  its  dignified  Georgian 
lines,  was   not  without   :i   certain   statelincss— rec- 
tangular,   tlucc-siorivil,    mellow,    with    buff   walls, 


i^md 


f 


77/ A'  Ji'l[REE r  Jl^L LED    SiTRAJGlI T 

huff  chimneys,  white   doorways,    white    casx-ments. 
white  verandas,  a  white  balustrade  ar/)und  the  ton 
and  a  white  urn  at  each  of  the  four  corners.     Where! 
as  over  the  verandas,  there  was  a  hit  f>f  inclined  roof, 
russet-red  tdes  gave  a  warmer  touch  of  color.     From 
the  borders  of  the  lawn,  cdfied  with  a  line  of  shrubs, 
the  town  of  Wa  verton,  mersing  into  Cambridge,  jui>t 
now  a  stretch  of  cnmson-and-oranRe  woodland,  where 
gables,  spires,  and  towers  peeped  above  the  trees 
sloped  gently  to  the  ribbon  of  the  Charles.    Far  away' 
and  dim  in  the  mormng  haze,  the  roofed  and  steepled 
crest  of  lieacon  Hill  rose  in  successive  ridges,  to  cast 
up  from  Its  highest  point  the  gilded  dome  of  the  State 
House  as  culmination  to  the  sky-line.     Guion  looked 
long  and  hard,  first  at  the  house,  then  at  the  prospect 
He  walked  on  only  when  he  remembered  that  he 
must  reserve  his  forces  for  the  day's  possibilities, 
that  he  must  not  drain  himself  of  emotion  in  advance 
U  what  he  expected  were  to  come  to  pass,  the  first 
essential  to  his  playing  the  man  at  all  would  lie 
m  his  keeping  cool. 

So,  on  reaching  his  office,  he  brought  all  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  into  play,  to  appear  without  undue 
selt-consciousness  before  his  stenographer,  his  book- 
keeper   and  his  clerks.     The  ordeal  was  the  more 
severe  because  of  his  belief  that  they  were  conversant' 
with  the  state  of  his  affairs.     At  least  they  knew 
enough  to  be  sorry  for  him-of  that  he  was  sure- 
though  there  was  nothing  on  this  particular  morn- 
ing to  display  the  sympathy,  unless  it  was  the  stenog- 
rapher s  smile  as   he  passed  her  in  the  anteroom, 
and   the  three  small  yellow  chrysanthemums   she 

7^) 


i.^.idi 


'^': 


MICROCOPY   RESOLUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1.0 


I.I 


1^  12.8 

|50      ""■" 

III  2-5 
lllll^^ 

M^ 

iT  1^ 

^  US, 

m 

i.8 

1.25 


1.4 


^^  :653   East    Ma.n   Slrest 

:^a  Rochester.    Ne.   yorW         14609       USA 

J^  (716)    482  -  0300  -  Phone 

aSg  (716)    288  -  5989  -  fax 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

had  placed  in  a  glass  on  his  desk.  In  the  nods  of 
greeting  between  him  and  the  men  there  was,  or 
there  seemed  to  be,  a  studied  effort  to  show  nothmg 

at  all. 

Once  safely  in  his  own  office,  he  shut  the  door 
with  a  sense  of  relief  in  the  seclusion.     It  crossed  his 
mind  that  he  should  feel  something  of  the  same  sort 
when  locked  in  the   privacy  of  his   cell   after  the 
hideous  publicity  of  the  trial.     From  habit  as  well 
as  from  anxiety  he  went  straight  to  a  mirror  and 
surveyed  himself  again.    -Decidedly  he  had  changed 
since  yesterday.     It  was  not  so  much  that  he  was 
older  or  more  care-worn — he  was  different.     Perhaps 
he  was  ill.     He  felt  well  enough,  except  for  being 
tired,  desperately  tired;  but  that  could  be  accounted 
for  by  the  way  in  which  he  had  spent,  the  night. 
He  noticed  chiefly  the  ashy  tint  of  his  skin,  the  dull- 
ness of  his  eyes,  and— notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
his  clothes  were  of  his  usual  fastidiousness — a  curious 
eflfect  of  being  badly  dressed  more  startling  to  him 
than  pain.     He  was  careful  to  brush  his  beard  and 
twist   his   long   mustache     nto   its    usual   upward, 
French-looking  curve,  so  as  to  regain  as  much  as 
possible  the  air  of  his  old  self,  before  seating  himself 
at  his  desk  to  look  over  his  correspondence.     There 
was  a  pile  of  letters,  of  which  he  read  the  addresses 
slowly  without  opening  any  of  them. 

What  was  the  use?  He  could  do  nothing.  He 
had  come  to  the  end.  He  had  exhausted  all  the 
possibilities  of  the  situation.  Besides,  his  spirit 
was  broken.  He  could  feel  it.  Something  had 
snapped  last  night  within  him  that  would  never 

80 


THE    STREET_CALLED    STRAIGHT 

be  whole,  never  even  be  mended,  again.  It  was  not 
only  the  material  resources  under  his  control  that  he 
had  overtaxed,  but  the  spring  of  energy  within 
himself,  leavmg  him  no  more  power  of  resilience. 

An  hour  may  have  passed  in  this  condition  of 
dull  suspense,  when  he  was  startled  by  the  tinkle 
ot  his  desk  telephone.  It  was  with  some  effort  that 
he  leaned  forward  to  answer  the  call.  Not  that  he 
was  afraid-now;  he  only  shrank  from  the  necessity 
ot  doing  anything. 

"Mr.  Davenant  would  like  to  see  you,"  came 
the  voice  of  the  stenographer  from  the  anteroom. 
Ihere  was  nothing  to  reply  but,  "Ask  Mr.  Dave- 
nant to  come  in."     He  uttered  the  words  mechan- 

u^'^  f  if."^.""^  thought  of  Davenant  since  he 
talked  with  Ohvia  on  the  stairs— a  conversation  that 
now  seemed  a  curiously  long  time  ago. 

"I  hope  I'm  not  disturbing  you,  Mr.  Guion,"  the 
visitor  said  apologetically,  with  a  glance  at  the 
letters  on  the  desk. 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear  fellow,"  Guion  said,  cordially, 
from  force  of  habit,  offering  his  hand  without  rising 
from  the^  revolving  chair.  "Sit  down.  Have  a 
cigar  It  s  rather  a  sharp  morning  for  the  time  of 
year. 

The  use  of  the  conventional  phrases  of  welcome 
helped  him  to  emerge  somewhat  from  his  state  of 
apathy  Davenant  declined  the  cigar,  but  seated 
hmiself  near  the  desk,  in  one  of  the  round-backed 
office  chairs  Not  being  a  man  easily  embarrassed 
by  silences,  he  did  not  begin  to  speak  at  once,  and 
during  the  minute  his  hesitation  lasted  Guion  be- 
6  8i 


l-r 


!   I 


I  : 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

thought  him  of  Olivia's  remark,  "That  sortof  fixon- 
giant  type  is  always  good-looking."  Davenant 
was  good-looking,  in  a  clear-skinned,  clear-eyed  way. 
Everything  about  him  spoke  of  straight-forwardness 
and  strength,  tempered  perhaps  by  the  boyish  quality 
inseparable  from  fair  hair,  a  clean,  healthily  ruddy 
complexion,  and  a  direct  blue  glance  that  rested  on 
men  and  things  with  a  kind  of  pensive  wondering. 
All  the  same,  the  heavy-browed  face  on  a  big, 
tense  neck  had  a  frowning,  perhaps  a  lowering  ex- 
pression that  reminded  Guion  of  a  young  bull  before 
he  begins  to  charge.  The  lips  beneath  the  fair 
mustache  might  be  too  tightly  and  too  severely 
compressed,  but  the  smile  into  which  they  broke 
over  regular  white  teeth  was  the  franker  and  the 
more  engaging  because  of  the  unexpected  light. 
If  there  was  any  physical  awkwardness  about  him, 
it  was  in  the  management  of  his  long  legs;  but  that 
difficulty  was  overcome  by  his  simplicity.  It  was 
characteristic  of  Guion  to  notice,  even  at  such  a 
time  as  this,  that  Davenant  was  carefully  and 
correctly  dressed,  like  a  man  respectful  of  social 
usages. 

"I  came  in  to  see  you,  Mr.  Guion,"  he  began, 
apparently  with  some  hesitation,  "about  what  we 
were  talking  of  last  night." 

Guion  pulled  himself  together.  His  handsome 
eyebrows  arched  themselves,  and  he  half  smiled. 

"Last  night?     What  were  we  talking  of?" 

"We  weren't  talking  of  it,  exactly.  You  only 
told  us." 

"Only  told  you — ^what?"     The  necessity  to  do  a 

82 


THE    STREET_a^4LrjRri_^7^^j^^ 

little  fencing  brought  some  of  his  old  powers  into 
play. 

"That  you  wanted  to  borrow  half  a  million 
dollars  I  ve  come  in  to-to  lend  you  that  sum- 
if  you  II  take  it. 

For  a  few  seconds  Guion  sat  rigidly  still,  looking 
at  his  man.  The  import  and  bearing  of  the  words 
were  too  much  for  him  to  grasp  at  once.  Ail  his 
mind  was  prepared  to  deal  with  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment  was  the  fact  of  this  offer,  ignoring  its  applica- 
tion and  Its  consequences  as  things  which  for  the 
moment  lay  outside  his  range  of  thought. 

As  far  as  he  was  able  to  reflect,  it  was  to  assume 
that  there  was  more  here  than  met  the  eye.     Dave- 
nant  was  too  practised  as  a  player  of  "the  game" 
to  pay  a  big  price  for  a  broken  potsherd,  unless  he  was 
tolerably  sure  m  advance  that  within  the  potsherd 
or  under  it  there  lay  more  than  its  value.     It  was 
not  easy  to  surmise  the  form  of  the  treasure  nor  the 
spot  where  it  was  hidden,  but  that  it  was  there— in 
kind  satisfactory  to  Davenant  himself— Guion  had 
no  doubt.     It  was  his  part,  therefore,  to  be  astute 
and  wary,  not  to  lose  the  chance  of  selHng,  and 
yet   not   to   allow   himself  to   be   overreached      If 
Davenant  was  playing  a  deep  game,  he  must  play 
a  deeper.     He  was  sorry  his  head  ached  and  that  he 
telt  in  such  poor  trim  for  making  the  effort      "I 
must  look  sharp,"  he  said  to  himself;  "and  yet  I 
must  be  square  and  courteous.     That's  the  line  for 
me  to  take."     He  tried  to  get  some  inspiration  for 
the  spurt  in  tJling  himself  that  in  spite  of  everything 
he  was  still  a  man  of  business.     When  at  last  he 


Pi 


T 


lit  i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

began  to  speak,  it  was  with  something  of  the  feel- 
ing of  the  broken-down  prize-fighter  dragging  him- 
self bleeding  and  breathless  into  the  ring  for  the  last 
round  with  a  young  and  still  unspent  opponent. 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  were  in — in  a  position — to 
do  that." 

"I  am."     Davenant  nodded  with  some  emphasis. 

"Did  you  think  that  that  was  what  I  meant  when 
I — I  opened  my  heart  to  you  last  night?" 

"No.  I  know  it  wasn't.  My  offer  is  inspired 
by  nothing  but  what  I  feel." 

"Good!"  It  was  some  minutes  before  Guion 
spoke  again.  "If  I  remember  rightly,"  he  observed 
then,  "I  said  I  would  sell  my  soul  for  half  a  million 
dollars.  I  didn't  say  I  wanted  to  borrow  that 
amount." 

"You  may  put  it  in  any  way  you  Hke,"  Davenant 
smiled.  "I've  come  with  the  offer  of  the  money. 
I  want  you  to  have  it.  The  terms  on  which  you'd 
take  it  don't  matter  to  me." 

"  But  they  do  to  me.  Don't  you  see  ?  I'd  borrow 
the  money  if  I  could.  I  couldn't  accept  it  in  any 
other  way.  And  I  can't  borrow  it.  I  couldn't  pay 
the  interest  on  it  if  I  did.  But  I've  exhausted  my 
credit.     I  can't  borrow  any  more." 

"You  can  borrow  what  I'm  wilHng  to  lend,  can't 
you?" 

"No;  because  Tory  Hill  is  mortgaged  for  all  it 
will  stand.     I've  nothing  else  to  offer  as  collateral — " 

"I'm  not  asking  for  collateral.  I'm  ready  to 
hand  you  over  the  money  on  any  terms  you  like 
or  on  no  terms  at  all." 


■  I'VE    DONE    WRONG,    BUT    i'm    WILLING    TO    PAY    THE    PENALTY  " 


^m  ^sm 


f 


8  » 


I 

i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Do  you  mean  that  you'd  be  willing  to— to— to 
give  It  to  mtV 

"I  mean,  sir,"  he  explained,  reddening  a  httle, 
"that  I  want  you  to  have  the  money  to  use — now. 
We  could  talk  about  the  conditions  afterward  and 
call  them  what  you  please.  If  I  understood  you  cor- 
rectly last  night,  you're  in  a  tight  place— a  con- 
foundedly tight  place — " 

"I   am;   but— don't   be   offended!— it   seems    to 
me  you'd  put  me  in  a  tighter." 
"How's  that?" 

"It's   a  little  difficult   to  explam.'      He  leaned 
forward,  with  one  of  his  nervous,  jerky  movements, 
and  fingered  the  glass  containing  the  three  chrysan- 
themums, but  without  taking  his  eyes  from  Dave- 
nant.     So  far  he  was  quite  satisfied  with  himself. 
"You  see,  it's  this  way.     I've  done  wrong— very 
wrong.     We    needn't    go    into   that,   because   you 
know  it  as  well  as  I.     But  I'm  willing  to  pay  the 
penalty.    That  is,  I'm  ready  to  pay  the  penalty. 
I've  made  up   my   mind   to  it.     I've  had   to — of 
course.     But  if  I  accepted  your  offer,  you'd  be  pay- 
ing it,  not  I."  . ,      ,  1  . 
"Well,  why  shouldn't  I ?     I've  paid  other  people  s 
debts  before  now— once  or  twice— when  I   didn't 
want  to.     Why  shouldn't  I  pay  yours,  when  I  should 

hke  the  job?" 

Davenant  attempted,  by  taking  something  like 
a  jovial  tone,  to  carry  the  thing  off  lightly. 

"There's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  do  it; 
there's  only  a  reason  why  I  shouldn't  let  you." 

"I    don't   see   why   you    shouldn't   let   me.     It 

85 


i  f  r 
- 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

mayn't  be  just  what  you'd  like,  but  it's  surely 
better  than  —  than  what  you  wouldn't  Hke  at 
all." 

Taking  in  the  significance  of  these  words,  Guion 
colored,  not  with  the  healthy  young  flush  that  came 
so  readily  to  Davenant's  face,  but  in  dabbled, 
hectic  spots.  His  hand  trembled,  too,  so  that 
some  of  the  water  from  the  vase  he  was  holding 
spilled  over  on  the  desk.  It  was  probably  this  small 
accident,  making  him  forget  the  importance  of  his 
role,  that  caused  him  to  jump  up  nervously  and 
begin  pacing  about  the  room. 

Davenant  noticed  then  what  he  had  not  yet  had 
time  for— the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  Guion 
in  less  than  twenty  hours.  It  could  not  be  defined 
as  looking  older  or  haggard  or  ill.  It  could  hardly 
be  said  to  be  a  difference  in  complexion  or  feature 
or  anything  outward.  As  far  as  Davenant  was  able 
to  judge,  it  was  probably  due,  not  to  the  loss  of  self- 
respect,  but  to  the  loss  of  the  pretense  at  self-respect; 
it  was  due  to  that  desolation  of  the  personality  that 
comes  when  the  soul  has  no  more  reason  to  keep  up 
its  defenses  against  the  world  outside  it,  when  the 
Beautiful  Gate  is  battered  down  and  the  Veil  of  the 
Temple  rent,  while  the  Holy  of  Holies  lies  open  for 
any  eye  to  rifle.  It  was  probably  because  this  was 
so  that  Guion,  on  coming  back  to  his  seat,  began  at 
once  to  be  more  explanatory  than  there  was  any 
need  for. 

"I  haven't  tried  to  thank  you  for  your  kind  sug- 
gestion, but  we'll  come  to  that  when  I  see  more 
clearly  just  what  you  want." 

86 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"I've  told  you  that.  I'm  not  asking  for  anything 
else." 

"So  far  you  haven't  asked  for  anything  at  all; 
but  I  don't  imagine  you'll  be  content  with  that.  In 
any  case,"  he  hurried  on,  a^  Davenant  seemed  about 
to  speak,  "I  don't  want  you  to  be  under  any  mis- 
apprehension about  the  affair.  There's  nothing 
extenuating  in  it  whatever— that  is,  nothing  but  the 
mtention  to  'put  it  back'  that  goes  with  practically 
every  instance  of"— he  hesitated  long— "every 
instance  of  embezzlement,"  he  finished,  bravely. 
"It  began  this  way — " 

"I  don't  want  to  know  how  it  began,"  Davenant 
said,  hastily.  "I'm  satisfied  with  knowing  the 
situation  as  it  is." 

"But  I  want  to  tell  you.  In  proportion  as  I'm 
open  with  you  I  shall  expect  you  to  be  frank  with 
me," 

"I  don't  promise  to  be  frank  with  you." 
"Anyhow,  I  mean  to  set  j'ou  the  example." 
He  went  on  to  speak  rapidly,  feverishly,  with  that 
half-hysterical  impulse  toward  confession  from  the 
signs  of  which  Davenant  had  shrunk  on  the  previous 
evening.  As  Guion  himself  had  forewarned,  there 
was  nothing  new  or  unusual  in  the  tale.  The 
situations  were  entirely  the  conventional  ones  in  the 
drama  of  this  kind  of  unfaithfulness.  The  only 
element  to  make  it  appealing,  an  element  forcibly 
present  to  Davenant 's  protective  instincts,  was  the 
contrast  between  what  Guion  had  been  and  what  he 
was  to-day. 

"And  so,"  Guion  concluded,  "I  don't  see  how  I 


■ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

could  accept  this  money  from  you.  Any  honorable 
man — that  is,"  he  corrected,  in  some  confusion, 
"any  sane  man — would  tell  you  as  much." 

"I've  already  considered  what  the  sane  man  and 
the  honorable  man  would  tell  me.  I  guess  I  can  let 
them  stick  to  their  opinion  so  long  as  I  have  my  own." 
"And  what  is  your  opinion.?  Do  you  mind  tell- 
ing me?  You  understand  that  what  you're  propos- 
ing is  immoral,  don't  you.?" 
"Yes — in  a  way." 

Guion   frowned.     He   had   hoped  for  some   pre- 
tense at  contradiction. 
"I  didn't  know  whether  you'd  thought  of  that." 
"Oh  yes,  I've  thought  of  it.     That  is,  I  see  what 
you  mean." 

"It's  compounding  a  felony  and  outwitting  the 
ends  of  justice  and — " 

"I  guess  I'll  do  it  just  the  same.  It  doesn't  seem 
to  be  my  special  job  to  look  after  the  ends  of  justice; 
and  as  for  compounding  a  felony — well,  it'll  be  some- 
thing new." 

Guion  made  a  show  of  looking  at  him  sharply. 
The  effort,  or  the  pretended  effort,  to  see  through 
Da  enant's  game  disguised  for  the  moment  his 
sense  of  humiliation  at  this  prompt  acceptance 
of  his  own  statement  of  the  case. 

"All  the  same,"  he  observed,  trying  to  take  a 
detached,  judicial  tone,  "your  offer  is  so  amazing 
that  I  presume  you  wouldn't  make  it  unless  you  had 
some  unusual  reason." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  have.  In  fact,  I  know  I 
haven't." 

88 


)\V 


in 


IM_STREET    CALLED  ^RAlC.JiT 

"Well,  whatever  its  nature,  I  should  like  to  kn( 
what  It  IS. 

"Ij'  that  necessary?" 

"Doesn't  it  strike  you  that  it  would  bt.~m 
order?  If  I  were  to  let  you  do  this  for  me  you'd 
be  rendering  me  :in  extraordinary  service  We're 
both  men  of  business,  men  of  the  world;  and  ue  know 

Hrie'""'''  ^"''   "''^'''"^   ''   "°^   according    to 

Davenant  looked  at  him  pensively.     "That   is 
you  want  to  know  what  I  should  be  pulling  off  for 
myself  ? 

"That's  about  it." 

"I   don't  see  why   that  should  worrv  you      If 
you  get  the  money—" 

"J/ri!  ^^^}^f  '"^"ey  I  put  myself  in  your  power." 
What  of  that?  Isn't  it  just  as  well  to  be  in  mv 
power  as  in  the  power  of  other  people?" 

Again  Guion  winced  inwardly,  but  kept  his  self- 
control.  He  was  not  yet  accustomed  to  doing 
without  tne  formulas  of  respect  from  those  whom 
he  considered  his  inferiors. 

"Possibly,"  he  said,  not  caring  to  conceal  a  cer- 
tain irritation;  "but  even  so  I  should  like  to  know 

m  case  I  were  in  your   power   what   you'd   expect 
or    mp  ' 


or  me 


right    away.     I 
the    dark    than 


I    can    answer    that    question 
shouldn't  expect  anything  at  all." 
"Then  you   leave   me   more   in 
ever." 

Davenant  still  eyed  him  pensively.     "Do  I 
derstand  you  to  be  suspicious  of  my  motives?" 

89 


un- 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Suspicious  might  not  be  the  right  word.  Sup- 
pose we  said  curious." 

Davenant  reflected.  Perhaps  it  was  his  mastery 
of  the  situation  that  gave  him  unconsciously  a  rock- 
like air  of  nonchalance.  When  he  spoke  it  was  with 
a  little  smile,  which  Guion  took  to  be  one  of  con- 
descension. Condescension  in  the  circumstances 
was  synonymous  with  insolence. 

"Well,  sir,  suppose  I  allowed  you  to  remain 
curious?     What  then.^" 

They  were  the  wrong  words.  It  was  the  wrong 
manner.  Guion  looked  up  with  a  start.  His  next 
words  were  uttered  in  the  blind  instinct  of  t.ie 
haughty-headed  gentleman  who  thinks  highly  of 
himself  to  save  the  moment's  dignity. 

"In  that  case  I  think  we  must  call  the  barp^ain 
off." 

Davenant  shot  out  of  his  seat.  He,  too,  was  not 
without  a  current  of  hot  blood. 

"All  right,  sir.  It's  for  you  to  decide.  Only, 
I'm  sorry.  Good-by!"  He  held  out  his  hand, 
which  Guion,  who  was  now  leaning  forward,  toying 
with  the  pens  and  pencils  on  the  desk,  affected  not  to 
see.  A  certain  lack  of  ease  that  often  came  over 
Davenant  at  moments  of  leave-taking  or  greeting 
kept  him  on  the  spot.  "I  hoped,"  he  stammered, 
"that  I  might  have  been  of  some  use  to  you, 
and  that  Miss  Guion — " 

Guion  looked  up  sharply.  "Has  she  got  anything 
to  do  with  it?" 

"Nothing,"  Davenant  said,  quickly,  "nothing 
whatever." 

()0 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"I  didn't  see  how  she  could  have—"  Guion  was 
going  on,  when  Davenant  interrupted. 

She  has  nothing  to  do  with  it  whatever,"  he  re- 
peated 'I  was  only  going  to  say  that  I  hoped  she 
might  have  got  through  her  wedding  without  hear- 
ing anything  about— all  this— all  this  fuss." 

In  uttering  the  last  words  he  had  moved  toward 
the  door.  His  hand  was  on  the  knob  and  he  was 
about  to  make  some  repetition  of  his  farewells  when 
Ouion  spoke  again.  He  was  leaning  once  more  over 
the  desk,  his  fingers  playing  nervously  with  the  pens 
and  pencils  He  made  no  further  effort  to  keep  up 
his  role  of  keen-sighted  man  of  business.  His  head 
was  bent,  so  that  Davenant  could  scarcely  see  his 
face,  and  when  he  spoke  his  words  were  muffled  and 
sullen. 

A  ''^'^'^^,?^»^''0"  would  be  too  much.     Four  hun- 
f.^f"'^  ""^  thousand  would  cover  everything  " 
Ihat  would  be  all  the  same  to  me,"  Davenant 
said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

But  he  went  back  to  the  desk  and  took  his  seat 
again. 


VI 


f  t 


RAVING  watched  through  the  window 
her  father  pass  down  the  avenue  on  his 
way  to  town,  Miss  Guion  reseated  her- 
self mechanically  in  her  place  at  the 
breakfast-table  in  order  to  think.  Not 
that  her  thought  could  be  active  or 
coherent  as  yet;  but  a  certain  absorption  of  the  facts 
was  possible  by  the  simple  process  of  sitting  still  and 
letting  them  sink  in.  As  the  minutes  went  by,  it 
became  with  her  a  matter  of  sensation  rather  than 
of  mental  effort — of  odd,  dream-l»ke  sensation,  in 
which  all  the  protecting  walls  and  clearly  defined 
boundary-lines  of  life  and  conduct  appeared  to  be 
melting  away,  leaving  an  immeasurable  outlook  on 
vacancy.  To  pass  abruptly  from  the  command  of 
means,  dignity,  and  consideration  out  into  a  state 
in  which  she  could  claim  nothing  at  all  was  not  un- 
like what  she  had  often  supposed  it  might  be  to  go 
from  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  earth  as  a  dis- 
embodied spirit  into  space.  The  analogy  was  ren- 
dered the  more  exact  by  her  sense,  stunned  and  yet 
conscious,  '  1  the  survival  of  her  own  personality 
amid  what  seemed  a  universal  wreckage.  This 
persistence  of  the  ego  in  conditions  so  vast  and  v.i^ue 
and  empt}'^  as  to  be  almost  no  conditions  at  all  was 

92 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

the  one  point  on  which  she  could  concentrate  her 
faculties. 

It  was,  too,  the  one  point  on  which  she  could  form 
an  articulated  thought.     She  was  Olivia  Guion  still' 
In  this  slipping  of  the  world  from  beneath  her  feet 
she  got  a  certain  assurance  from  the  affirmation  of 
her  identity.     She   was   still    that  character,  com- 
pounded of  many   elements,   which   recognized   as 
Its  most  active  energies  insistence  of  will  and  tenacity 
of  pride.     She  could  still  call  these  resources  to  her 
aid   to   render  her  indestructible.     Sitting  slightly 
crouched,  her  hands  clasped  between  her  knees,  her 
face   drawn    and   momentarily  older,  her  lips   set, 
her  eyes  tracing  absently  the  arabesques  chased  on 
the  coffee-urn,  she  was  inwardly  urging  her  spirit 
to  the  buoyancy  that  cannot  sink,  to  the  vitality 
that  rides  on  chaos.     She  was  not  actively  or  con- 
sciously doing  this;  in  the  strictest  sense  she  was  not 
doing  It  at  all;  it  was  doing  itself,  obscurely  and 
spontaneously,  by  the  operation  of  subliminal  forces 
of  which  she  knew  almost  nothing,  and  to  which  her 
personality  bore  no  more  thantfhe  relation  of  a  moun- 
tain  range  to  unrecordable  volcanic  fusions   deep 
down  in  the  earth. 

When,  after  long  withdrawal  within  herself,  she 
changed  her  position,  sighed,  and  glanced  about  her, 
she  had  a  curious  feeling  of  having  traveled  far,  of 
looking  back  on  the  old  familiar  things  from  a  long 
wa>  off.  The  richly  wrought  silver,  the  cheerful 
Minton,  the  splendidly  toned  mahogany,  the  Goya 
etchings  on  the  walls,  things  of  no  great  value,  but 
long  ago  acquired,  treasured,  loved,  had  suddenly 

93 


■'::>.  t.'-.'jT^''.:, 


m^m 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

become  useless  and  irrelevant.  She  had  not  lost 
Tory  Hill  so  much  as  passed  beyond  it — out  into 
a  condition  where  nothing  that  preceded  it  could 
count,  and  in  which,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned, 
existence  would  have  to  be  a  new  creai  jn,  called 
afresh  out  of  that  which  was  without  form  and  void. 

She  experienced  the  same  sensation,  if  it  was  a 
sensation,  when,  a  half-hour  later,  she  found  herself 
roaming  dreamily  rather  than  restlessly  about  the 
house.  She  was  not  anticipating  her  farewell  of  it; 
it  had  only  ceased  to  be  a  background,  to  have  a 
meaning;  it  was  like  the  scenery,  painted  and  set, 
after  the  play  is  done.  She  herself  had  been  re- 
moved elsewhere,  projected  into  a  sphere  where  the 
signs  and  seasons  were  so  different  from  anything 
she  had  ever  known  as  to  afford  no  indications — 
where  day  did  not  necessarily  induce  light,  nor 
night  darkness,  nor  past  experience  knowledge. 
In  the  confounding  of  the  perceptive  powers  and  the 
reeling  of  the  judgment  which  the  new  circumstances 
produced,  she  clung  to  her  capacity  to  survive  and 
dominate  like  a  staggered  man  to  a  stanchion. 

In  the  mean  time  she  was  not  positively  suffering 
from  either  shock  or  sorrow.  From  her  personal 
point  of  view  the  loss  of  money  was  not  of  itself  an 
overpowering  calamity.  It  might  entail  the  dis- 
ruption c"  r  '  )ng  habits,  but  she  was  young  enough 
not  to  be  auaid  of  that.  In  spite  of  a  way  of  living 
that  might  be  said  to  have  given  her  the  best  of 
everything,  she  had  always  known  that  her  father's 
income  was  a  small  one  for  his  position  in  the  world. 
As  a  family  they  had  been  in  the  habit  of  associating 

94 


on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  with   people  whose 
revenu^  were  twice  and  thrice  and  ten  times  their 
own       Ihe  obligation  to  keep  the  pace  set  by  their 
equals  had  been  recognized  as  a  domestic  hardship 
ever  since  she  could    remember,   though   it  was   a 
mitigatmg  circumstance  that  in  one  way  or  another 
the  money  had  always  been  found.     Guion,  Maxwell 
&  Guion  was  a  well  which,  while  often  threatening 
to  run  dry,  had  never  failed  to  respond  to  a  sufficiently 
energetic  pumping.     She  had   known   the   thought 
however-fugitive,  speculatory,  not  dwelt  upon  Is  a 
real  possibihty-that  a  day  might  come  when  it 
would  do  so  no  more. 

It  was  a  thought  that  went  as  quickly  as  it  came 
its  only  importance  being  that  it  never  caused  her  a 
shudder.     If  It  sometimes  brought  matter  for  re- 
Hection    it  was  in  showing  her  to  herself  in  a  light 
in  which,  she  was  tolerably  sure,  she  never  appeared 
to  anybody  else-as  the  true  child  of  the  line  of 
truga    torebears,  of  sea-scouring  men  and  cheese- 
parir  ?  women,  who,  during  nearly  two  hundred  years 
ot  thrift,  had  put  penny  to  penny  to  save  the  Guion 
competence.     Standing  in  the  cheerful  "Colonial" 
hall  which  their  stinting  of  themselves  had  made  it 
possible    to    build,   and    which    was    still    furnished 
chiefly  with   the  objects-a   settle,   a   pair  of  cup- 
boards, a  Copley  portrait,  a   few  chairs,  some  old 
decorative  pottery— they  had  lived  with,  it  afforded 
one  more  steadying  element  for  her  bewilderment  to 
grasp  at,  to  feel  herself  their  daughter. 

There  was,  indeed,  in  the  very  type  of  her  beauty 
a  hint  of  a  carefully  calculated,  unwasteful  adapta- 

95 


I 


rr^ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

tion  of  means  to  ends  quite  in  the  spirit  of  their 
sparing  ways.  It  was  a  beauty  achieved  by  nature 
apparently  with  the  surest,  and  yet  with  the  sHghtest, 
expenditure  of  energy— a  beauty  of  poise,  of  Une, 
of  delicacy,  of  reserve— with  nothing  of  the  super- 
fluous, and  little  even  of  color,  beyond  a  gleam  of 
chrysoprase  in  fine,  gray  eyes  and  a  coppery,  me- 
tallic luster  in  hair  that  otherwise  would  have  passed 
as  chestnut  brown.  It  was  a  beauty  that  came  as 
much  from  repose  in  inaction  as  from  grace  in  move- 
ment, but  of  which  a  noticeable  trait  was  that  it 
required  no  more  to  produce  it  in  the  way  of  effort 
than  in  that  of  artifice.  Through  the  transparent 
whiteness  of  the  skin  the  blue  of  each  clearly  artic- 
ulated vein  and  the  rose  of  each  hurrying  flush 
counted  for  its  utmost  in  the  general  economy 
of  values. 

It  was  in  keeping  with  this  restraint  that  in  all 
her  ways,  her  manners,  her  dress,  her  speech,  her 
pride,  there  should  be  a  meticulous  simplicity.  It 
was  not  the  simplicity  of  the  hedge-row  any  more 
than  of  the  hothouse;  it  was  rather  that  of  some 
classic  flower,  lavender  or  crown-imperial,  growing 
from  an  ancient  stock  in  some  dignified,  long-tended 
garden.  It  was  thus  a  simplicity  closely  allied  to 
sturdintsr  —the  inner  sturdiness  not  inconsistent 
with  an  outward  semblance  of  fragility — the  tenacity 
of  strength  by  which  the  lavender  scents  the  summer 
and  the  crown-imperial  adorns  the  spring,  after  the 
severest  srows. 

It  was  doubtless  this  vitality,  drawn  from  deep 
down  in  her  native  soil,  that  braced  her  now,  to  simply 

96 


holding  fast  intuitively  and  almost  blindlv  till  the 
first  force  of  the  shock  should  have  so  snLt    t  .  If 
that  the  normal  working  of  the  faculties  ^   b  ^^^n 
snoTen  /\-^%^he  something  of  which  she  h  d    u  t 
spoken  to  her  father-the  something  that  micht  he 
pnde  but  that  was  not  wholly  pride,  which  hXe vc 
been  taxed  nor  called  on.     She  could  not  have  d 
fined  .t  m  a  more  positive  degree;  but  even  now,  when 
s  LrofT/b""  ^f  ^integration,  she  wTs  con- 
resources.  '"^  '''"''  '"  ""^°"^^^^  treasure  of 
In  what  it  supplied  her  with,  however,  there  was 
no  answer  to  the  question  that  had  been   s  lenX 
makmg   .tse If  urgent    from    the   first   word   of  ht 
father  s  revelations:     What  was  to  happen  wkh  re 
gard  to  her  wedding.?     It  took  the  nrW        ? 
of  dealino-  w.VK  «.u  practical  form 
ot  deahng  with  the  mere  outward  paraphernalia- 
^e  service,  the  bridesmaids,  the  guests^  the  feast 
Would  It  be  reasonable,  would  it  be  deceit   to  carrv 
out   rich   and   elaborate  plans   in   a   ruined   houS 
Further  than  that  she  dared  not  inquire     hough  she 

DrusilTa  F.nY       '       ""^  "^l  ''''''''  ^^^he  morning, 
timidv^h       K^'  '^  ''^  ^'''  OJ'^'^  broached  i 
rtLf^ay^hVp'^  ^^"'"^"•°"  ''^^^'^  '^^  ^-le 

v.^ts°Ti"^  ^"  '^'  ^"r  ''^^^"^'^  the  gossip  of  ser- 
vants,   Drusilla  felt  the  necessitr  of  being  on  her 
Suard.     She  accepted  Olivia's  information'that  he 
father  had  met  wiih  losses  as  so  much   news    and 
gave  utterance  to  sentiments  of  svmpathyTnd  en 
couragement.     Beyond  that  she  could  not' go      Sl^L" 

97 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

was  obliged  to  cast  her  condolences  in  the  form  of 
bald  generalities,  since  she  could  make  but  a  limited 
use  of  the  name  of  Rupert  Ashley  as  a  source  of  com- 
fort. More  clearly  than  any  one  in  their  little 
group  she  could  see  what  marriage  with  Olivia  in  her 
new  conditions — the  horrible,  tragic  conditions  that 
would  arise  if  Peter  could  do  nothing — ^would  mean 
for  him.  She  weighed  her  words,  therefore,  with  an 
exactness  such  as  she  had  not  displayed  since  her 
early  days  among  the  Sussex  Rangers,  measuring 
the  little  more  and  the  little  less  as  in  an  apothecary's 
balances. 

"You  see,"  Olivia  said,  trying  to  sound  her 
friend's  ideas,  "from  one  point  of  view  I  scarcely 
know  him." 

"You  know  him  well  enough  to  be  in  love  with 
him."  Drusilla  felt  that  that  committed  her  to 
nothing. 

"That  doesn't  imply  much — not  necessarily,  that 
is.  jC^on  can  be  in  love  with  people  and  scarcely 
know  them  at  all^-  And  it  often  happens  that  if 
.•  you  knew  them  better  you  wouldn't  be  in  love  with  j 
•'  them." 

"And  you  know  him  well  enough  to  be  sure  that 
he'll  want  to  do  everything  right." 

"Oh  yes;  I'm  quite  sure  of  that.  I'm  only  un- 
certain that — everything  right — would  satisfy  me." 

Drusilla  reflected.  "  I  see  what  you  mean.  And, 
of  course,  you  want  to  do — everything  right — ^your- 
self." 

Olivia  glanced  up  obliquely  under  her  lashes. 

"I  see  what  you  mean,  too." 

98 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAWnT 

"You  mustn't  see  too  much."  Drusilla  spoke 
hastily.  She  waited  in  some  anxiety  to  see  just 
what  significance  Olivia  had  taken  from  her  words; 
but  when  the  latter  spoke  it  was  to  pass  on  to  another 
pomt. 

"You  see,  he  didn't  want  to  marry  an  American, 
m  the  first  place." 

"Well,  no  one  forced  him  into  that.  That's 
one    thing   he   did    with   his    eyes    open,   at    any 

"His  doing  it  was  a  sort  of— concession." 
Drusilla  looked  at  her  with  big,  indignant  eyes. 
"Concession  to  what,  for  pity's  sake?" 
"Concession  to  his  own  heart,  I  suppose."     Olivia 
smiled,  faintly.     "You  see,  all  other  things  being 
equal,  he  would  have  preferred  to  marry  one  of  his 
own  countrywomen." 

"It's  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other. 
If  he'd  married  one  of  his  own  countr\'women,  the 
other  things  wouldn't  have  been  equal.  So  there 
you  are." 

"But  the  other  things  aren't  equal  now.  Don't 
you  see.?    They're  changed." 

"You're  not  changed."  Drusilla  felt  these  words 
to  be  dangerous.  It  was  a  relief  to  her  that  Olivia 
should  contradict  them  promptly. 

"Oh  yes,  I  am.  I'm  changed— in  value.  With 
papa's  troubles  there's  a  depreciation  in  every- 
thing we  are." 

Drusilla  repeated  these  words  to  her  father  and 

mother  at  table  when  she  went  home  to  luncheon. 

It  she  feels  like  that  now,"  she  commented,  "what 

99 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

-uhU  she  say  when  she  knows  all? — if  she  ever  has 
to  know  it." 

**  Hut  she  hasn't  changed,"  Mrs.  Temple  argued. 
"It  doesn't  make  any  ditt'erence  in  her.'' 

Drusilla  shook  her  head.  "Yes,  it  does,  mother 
dear.     You  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"I  know  enough  about  it,"  Mrs.  Temple  de- 
clared, with  some  asperity,  "to  see  that  she  will  be 
the  same  Olivia  Guion  after  her  father  has  gone  to 
prison  as  she  was  in  the  days  of  her  happiness.  If 
there's  any  change,  it  will  be  to  make  her  a  better 
and  nobler  character.  She's  just  the  type  to  be — 
to  be  perfected  through  suffering." 

"Y-y-es,"  Drusilla  admitted,  her  head  inclined 
to  one  side.  "That  might  be  quite  true  in  one  way; 
but  it  wouldn't  help  Rupert  Ashley  to  keep  his  place 
in  the  Sussex  Rangers." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  they'd  make  him  give  it 
up?" 

"They  wouldn't  make  him,  mother  dear.  He'd 
only  have  to." 

"Well,  I  never  did!     If  that's  the  British  army — " 

"The  British  army  is  a  very  complicated  institu- 
tion. It  fills  a  lot  of  different  functions,  and  it's 
a  lot  of  different  things.  It's  one  thing  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  regiment,  and  another  from  that 
of  the  War  Office.  It's  one  thing  on  the  official 
side,  and  another  on  the  military,  and  another  on  the 
social.  You  can't  decide  anything  about  it  in  an 
abstract,  offhand  way.  Rupert  Ashley  might  be  a 
capital  officer,  and  every  one  might  say  he'd  done 
the  honorable  thing  in  standing  by  Olivia;  and  yet 


he'd  find  it  impossible  to  go  on  as  colonel  of  the 
Rangers  when  his  father-in-law  was  in  penal  ser- 
vitude, rhere  it  is  in  a  nutshell.  You  can't  argue 
about  It,  because  that's  the  way  it  is." 

Rodney  Temple  said  nothing;  but  he  probablv  had 
these  words  m  h.s  mind  when  he,  too,  early  in  the 
afternoon  made  h.s  way  to  Tory  H.ll.  Olivia  spoke 
to  h.m  of  her  father  s  losses,  though  her  allusions  to 
Colonel  Ashley  were  necessarily  more  veiled  than 
they  had  been  with  Mrs.  Fane. 

"The  future  may  be  quite  different  from  what  I 
expected.  I  can  t  tell  yet  for  sure.  I  must  see  how 
thmgs — work  out." 

rZ^^^^AA  ^^'\  P""^  i"^^^'  "^y  ^^^'■'"  ^^^  o'd  man 
commended.  It's  a  large  part  of  knowledge  to 
know  how  to  leave  well  enough  alone      ^  ^ine  times 

make  it^'"        ^         °"^  ^^"^^  ^^  '''^"     '^"  ^^  ^^" 

"I   know  I've  got   to  feel   my  way,"  she   said, 
meanmg  to  agree  with  him." 
"I  don't  see  why." 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  in  some  surprise.     "You 
don  t  see — V 

''No,  I  don't      Why  should  you  feel  your  way.? 
I  ou  re  not  bhnd.  ^ 

''I  feel  my  way  because  I  don't  see  it." 
Oh  yes,  you  do— all  you  need  to  see." 

fusion/'      '^°"''  '^^  ''"^'     ^  ^''"'^  ^""  '^'^  ^"  ^«"- 

— tor  the  next  step. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  the  next  step  " 

lOI 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


"I  suppose  the  next  step  would  be  -well,  let  us 
say  what  you've  got  to  do  to-day.  That's  about  as 
much  ground  as  any  one  can  cover  with  a  stride. 
You  see  that,  don't  you.?  You've  got  to  cat  your 
dinner,  and  go  to  bed.  That's  all  you've  got 
to  settle  for  the  moment." 

Her  lips  relaxed  in  a  pale  smile.  "I'm  afraid  I 
must  look  a  little  farther  ahead  than  that." 

**VVhat  for.?  What  goci  will  it  do.?  You  won't 
sec  anything  straight.  It's  no  use  trying  to  see 
daylight  two  hours  before  dawn.  People  are  foolish 
enough  sometimcj  to  make  the  attempt,  but  they 
only  strain  their  eyesight.  For  every  step  you've 
got  to  take  there'll  be  something  to  show  you  the 
line  to  follow." 

"What?"  She  asked  the  question  chiefly  for  the 
sake  of  humoring  him.  She  was  not  susceptible  to 
this  kind  of  comfort,  nor  did  she  feel  the  need  of  it. 

"W-well,"  the  old  man  answered,  slowly,  "it 
isn't  easy  to  tell  you  in  any  language  you'd  under- 
stand." 

"I  can  understand  plain  English,  if  that  would  do." 

"You  can  make  it  do,  hut  it  doesn't  do  very  well. 
It's  really  one  of  those  things  that  require  what  the 
primitive  Christians  called  an  unknown  tongue. 
Since  we  haven't  got  that  as  a  means  of  communica- 
tion— "  He  broke  off,  stroking  his  long  beard  with 
a  big  handsome  hand,  but  presently  began  again. 
"Some  people  call  it  a  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  a 
pillar  of  fire  by  night.  Some  People  have  described 
it  by  other  figures  of  speech.  The  description  isn't 
of  importance — it's  the  Thing." 

1 02 


She  waited  a  minute,  before  saying  in  a  tone  that 
had  some  awe  m   it,  as  well  as  some  impatience: 
Uh,   but   I  ve   never  seen   anything  like   that      I 
never  expect  to." 

"That's  a  pity;  because  it's  there." 
"There.?     Where.?" 

"Just  where  one  would  look  for  it-if  one  looked 
at  all.  When  it  moves,"  he  went  on,  his  hand 
suitmg  the  action  to  the  word,  on  a  level  with  his 
eyes,  when  it  moves,  you  follow  it,  and  when  it 
rests,  you  wait.  It's  possible-I  don't  know-I 
merely  throw  out  the  suggestion-no  one  can  reallv 
know  but  yourself,  because  no  one  but  yourself  can 
see  it-b-  K's  possible  that  at  this  moment-for 
you— Its   s    nding   still." 

"I  don't  know  what  I  gain  either  by  its  moving 
or  Its  standing  still,  so  long  as  I  don't  see  it  " 
;;No   neither  do  I."  he  assented,  promptly. 

Well,  then.?"  she  questioned. 
"Shall  I  tell  you  a  little  story.?"     He  smiled  at 
her  behind  his  stringy,  sandy  beard,  wh'ie  his  kind 
old  eyes  blinked  wistfully. 

"If  you  like.  I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  it  "  She 
was  not  enthusiastic.  She  was  too  deeply  engrossed 
with  pressing,  practical  questions  to  find  his  mys- 
ticism greatly  to  the  point. 

He  took  a  turn  around  the  drawing-room  before 
beginning,  stopping  to  caress  the  glaze  of  one  of  the 
i^  ang-hsi  vases  on  the  mantelpiece,  while  he  ar- 
ranged his  thoughts. 

"There   was    once    a    little    people,"    he    began 
turning  round  to  where  she  sat  in  the  corner  of  a  sofa' 

103  '* 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


I  ■  i 


•ir 


her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap— "there  was  once  a 
little  people  —  a  mere  handful,  who  afterward  be- 
came a  race — who  saw  the  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and 
the  pillar  of  fire  by  night,  and  followed  it.  That 
is  to  say,  some  of  them  certainly  saw  it,  enough  of 
them  to  lead  the  others  on.  For  a  generation  or  two 
they  were  Httle  more  than  a  band  of  nomads;  but 
at  last  they  came  to  a  land  where  they  fought  and 
conquered  and  settled  down." 

"Yes.''  I  seem  to  have  heard  of  them.  Please 
go  on." 

"It  was  a  little  land,  rather  curiously  situated 
between  the  Orit.it  and  the  West,  between  the  desert 
and  the  sea.  It  had  grea.  advantages  both  for  se- 
clusion within  itself  and  communication  with  the 
world  outside.  If  a  divine  power  had  wanted  to 
nourish  a  tender  shoot,  till  it  grew  strong  enough  to 
ripen  seed  that  would  blow  readily  into  every  corner 
of  the  globe,  it  probably  couldn't  have  done  better 
than  to  have  planted  it  just  there." 

She  nodded,  to  show  that  she  followed  him. 

"  But  this  little  land  had  also  the  dangers  attendant 
on  its  advantages.  To  the  north  of  it  there  develop- 
ed a  great  power;  to  the  south  of  it  another.  Each 
turned  greedy  eyes  on  the  little  buffer  state.  And 
the  little  buffer  state  began  to  be  very  wise  and 
politic  and  energetic.  It  said,  If  we  don't  begin  to 
take  active  measures,  the  Assyrian,  or  the  Egyptian, 
whoever  gets  here  first,  will  eat  us  up.  But  if  we  buy 
off  the  one,  he  will  protect  us  against  the  other.'" 

"  That  seems  reasonable." 

"Yes;    quite    reasonable:    too    reasonable.     They 

104 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGdT 

forgot  that  a  power  that  could  lead  them  by  fire  and 
cloud   could   protect   them   even   against   conscript 
troops  and  modern  methods  of  fighring.     They  for- 
got that  if  so  much  trouble  had  been  i^hen  to  put 
them  where  they  were,  it  was  not  that— assuming 
that  they  behaved  themselves— it  was  not  that  they 
might  be  easily  rooted  out.     Instead  of  having  con- 
fidence within  they  looked  for  an  ally  from  without, 
and   chose   Egypt.     Very   clever;   very   diplomadc! 
1  here  was  only  one  criricism  to  be  made  on  the  course 
taken— that  it  was  all  wrong.     There  was  a  man 
on   the   spot    to   tell    them   so  — one  of  those   fel- 
lows whom  we  should  call  pessimists  if  we  hadn't 
been  taught  to  speak  of  them  as  prophets.     'You 
are  carrying  your  riches,'  he  cried  to  them,  'on  the 
shoulders  of  young  asses,  and  your  treasures  on  the 
bunches  of  camels,  to  a  people  that  shall  not  profit 
you.     For  the  Egyprians  shall  help  in  vain,  and  to 
no  purpose.     Your  strength  is— /o /zV  .-/z7/./"'     Ashe 
stood  looking  down  at  her  his  kindly  eyes  blinked 
for  a  minute  longer,  before  he  added,  "Do  you  see 
the  point?" 

She  smiled  and  nodded.  "Yes.  It  isn't  very 
obscure.  Otherwise  expressed  it  might  be,  When 
in  doubt,  do  nothing." 

"Exactly;  do  nothing— rill  the  pillar  of  cloud 
begms  to  move." 

Out  of  the  old  man's  parable  she  extracted  just 
one  hmt  that  she  considered  useful.  In  the  letter 
which  she  proceeded  to  write  Rupert  Ashley  as  soon 
as  she  was  alone,  a  letter  that  would  meet  him  on  his 
arrival  in  New  York,  she  gave  a  statement  of  such 

105 


-i 


;-■ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

facts  as  had  come  to  her  knowledge,  hut  abstained 
from  comments  of  her  own,  and  from  suggestions. 
She  had  intended  to  make  both.  She  had  thought 
it  at  first  her  duty  to  t?.ke  the  initiative  in  pointing 
out  the  gulf  of  difficulties  that  had  suddenly  opened 
up  between  her  lover  and  herself.  It  occurred  to 
her  now  that  she  might  possibly  discern  the  leading 
of  the  pillar  of  cloud  from  self-betrayal  on  his  part. 
She  would  note  carefully  his  acts,  his  words,  the 
expressions  of  his  face.  She  had  little  doubt  of 
being  able  to  read  m  them  some  indication  of  her  duty. 
This  in  itself  was  a  relief.  It  was  like  being  able  to 
learr  a  language  instead  of  having  to  invent  one. 
Nevertheless,  as  she  finished  her  letter  she  was  im- 
pelled to  add: 

"We  have  asked  some  three  hundred  people  to 
the  church  for  the  28th.  Many  of  them  will  not  be 
in  town,  as  the  season  is  still  so  early;  but  I  think  it 
wisest  to  withdraw  all  invitations  without  consulting 
you  further.  This  will  leave  us  free  to  do  as  we 
think  best  after  you  arrive.  We  can  then  talk  over 
everything  from  the  beginning." 

With  the  hint  thus  conveyed  she  felt  her  letter  to 
be  discreetly  worded.  By  the  time  she  had  slipped 
down  the  driveway  to  the  box  at  the  gate  and  posted 
it  with  her  own  hands  her  father  had  returned. 

She  had  ordered  tea  in  the  little  oval  sitting-room 
they  used  when  quite  alone,  and  told  the  maid  to 
say  she  was  not  receiving  if  anybody  called.  She 
knew  her  father  would  be  tired,  but  she  hoped  that 
if  they  were  undisturbed  he  would  talk  to  her  of  hii, 

106 


.  i«iifaK-.ift. 


^|»^^f:i..M.':'%.^^, 


^^1^._  A^M  T    CALLED    ST  RA I  Gil  T 

affairs.  There  was  so  much  in  them  that  was  mys- 
terious to  her.  Notwithstanding  her  partial  re- 
covery from  the  shock  of  the  morning,  she  still  felt 
herself  transported  to  a  world  in  which  the  needs  were 
new  to  her,  and  the  chain  of  cause  and  effect  had  a 
bewildering  inconsequence.  For  this  reason  it  seemed 
to  her  quite  in  the  order  of  things— the  curiously 
inverted  order  now  established,  in  which  one  thing 
was  as  likely  as  another— that  her  father  should 
stretch  himself  in  a  comfortable  arm-chair  and  say 
nothing  at  all  till  after  he  had  finished  his  second 
cup  of  tea.  Even  then  he  might  not  have  spoken 
if  her  own  patience  had  held  out. 

"So  you  didn't  go  away,  after  all,"  she  felt  it 
safe  to  observe. 

"No,  I  didn't." 

"Sha'n't  you  have  to  go?" 

There  was  an  instant's  hesitation. 

"Perhaps  not.  In  fact— I  may  almost  definitely 
say — not.     I  should  like  another  cup  of  tea." 

"That  makes  three,  papa.  Won't  it  keep  you 
awake.''" 

"Nothing  will  keep  me  awake  to-night." 

The  tone  caused  her  to  look  at  him  more  closely 
as  she  took  the  cup  he  handed  back  to  her.  She 
noticed  that  his  eyes  glittered  and  that  in  either 
cheek,  above  the  line  of  the  beard,  there  was  a  hectic 
spot.  She  adjusted  the  spirit-lamp,  and,  lifting  the 
cover  of  the  kettle,  looked  inside. 

"Has  anj^thing  happened.^"  she  asked,  doing  her 
best  to  give  the  question  a  casual  intonation. 

"A  great  deal  has  happened."     He  allowed  that 

107 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

statement  to  sink  in  before  continuing.  "I  think" 
—he  paused  long— "I  think  I'm  going  to  get  the 
money." 

She  held  herself  well  in  hand,  though  at  the  words 
the  old  familiar  landmarks  of  her  former  world 
seemed  to  rise  again,  rosily,  mistily,  like  the  walls  of 
Troy  to  the  sound  of  Apollo's  lute.  She  looked  into 
the  kettle  again  to  see  if  the  water  was  yet  boil- 
mg,  taking  longer  than  necessary  to  peer  into  the 
quiet  depth. 

"I'm  so  glad. "  She  spoke  as  if  he  had  told  her  he 
had  shaken  hands -with  an  old  friend.  "I  thought 
you   would." 

"Ah,  but  you  never  thought  of  anything  like 
this." 

"I  knew  it  would  be  something  pretty  good. 
With  your  name,  there  wasn't  the  slightest  doubt 
of  it." 

Had  he  been  a  wise  man  he  wouK'  have  let  it  go 
at  that.  He  was  not,  however,  a  wise  man.  The 
shallow,  brimming  reservoir  of  his  nature  was  of  the 
kind  that  spills  over  at  a  splash. 

"The  most  extraordinary  thing  has  happened," 
he  went  on.  "A  man  came  to  my  office  to-day  and 
offered  to  lend  me— no,  not  to  lend— piactically  to 
give  me— enough  money  to  pull  me  through." 

She  held  a  lump  of  sugar  poised  above  his  cup 
with  the  sugar-tongs.  Her  astonishment  was  so 
great  that  she  kept  it  there.  The  walls  of  the  city 
which  just  now  had  seemed  to  be  rising  magically 
faded  awaj  again,  leaving  the  same  unbounded 
vacancy  mto  which  she  had  been  looking  out  all  day 

1 08 


TH^  STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"What    do    you    mean    by— practically    to    give 


you 

"The  man  said  lend.  But  my  name  is  good  for 
even  more  than  you  supposed,  since  he  knows,  and 
I  know,  that  I  can  offer  him  no  security." 

"How  can  he  tell,  then,  that  you'll  ever  pay  it 
back?" 

"He  can't  tell.     That's  just  it." 

"And  can  you  tell.?"  She  let  the  lump  of  sugar 
faU  with  a  circle  of  tiny  eddies  into  the  cup  of  tea. 

"I  can  tell— up  to  a  point."  His  tone  indicated 
some  abatement  of  enthusiasm. 

"Up  to  what  point?" 

"Up  to  the  point  that  I'll  pay  it  back— if  I  can. 
That's  all  he  asks.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  doesn't 
seem  to  care." 

She  handed  him  his  cup.  "  Isn't  that  a  very  queer 
way  to  lend  money?" 

"Of  course  it's  queer.  That's  why  I'm  teUing 
you.  That's  what  makes  it  so  remarkable— such 
a— tribute— to  me,  I  dare  say  that  sounds  fatuous, 
but— 

"It  doesn't  sound  fatuous  so  much  as — " 

"So  much  as  what?" 

The  distress  gathering  in  her  eyes  prepared  him 
for  her  next  words  before  she  uttered  them. 

"Papa,  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  take  it." 

He  stared  at  her  dully.  Her  perspicacity  discon- 
certed him.  He  had  expected  to  bolster  up  the 
ruins  of  his  honor  by  her  delighted  acquiescence.  He 
had  not  known  till  now  how  much  he  had  been  count- 
ing on  the  justification  of  her  relief.     It  was  a  proof, 

109 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAJGHT 

however,  of  the  degree  to  which  his  own  initiative 

had  failed  him  that  he  cowered  before  her  judgment, 

with  Httle  or  no  protest. 
"I  haven't  said  I'd  take  it— positively." 
"Naturally.     Of  course  you  haven't." 
He  dabbled  the  spoon  uneasily  in  his  tea,  looking 

downcast.     "I  don't  quite  see  that,"  he  objected, 

trying  to  rally   his    pluck,    "why   it    should    be  - 

naturally." 

"Oh,  don't  you.?    To  me  it's  self-evident.     We 

may  have  lost  money,  but  we're  still  not— recipients 

of  alms." 

"This  wasn't  alms.  It  was  four  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars." 

She  was  plainly  awe-struck.  "That's  a  great  deal; 
but  I  supposed  it  would  be  something  large.  And 
yet  the  riagnitude  of  the  sum  only  makes  it  the 
more  impossible  to  accept." 

"Y-es;  of  course — if  you  look  at  it  in  that  way." 
He  put  back  his  cup  on  the  table  untasted. 

"Surely  it's  the  only  way  to  look  at  it.?  Aren't 
you  going  to  drink  your  tea.?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  I've  had  enough.  I've— I've 
had  enough — of  everything." 

He  sank  back  wearily  into  the  depths  of  his  arm- 
chair. The  gHtter  had  passed  from  his  eyes;  he 
looked  ill.  He  had  clearly  not  enough  courage  to 
make  a  stand  for  what  he  wanted.  She  could  see 
how  cruelly  he  was  disappointed.  After  all,  he  might 
have  accepted  the  money  and  told  her  nothing  about 
it!  He  had  taken  her  into  his  confidence  because 
ot  that  need  of  expansion  that  had  often  led  him  to 

no 


'^^^AA TAEET    CALLED    STRA^tGHT 

"give  away"  what  a  more  crafty  man  would  have 
kept  to  himself.  She  was  profiting  by  his  indiscre- 
tion to  make  what  was  already  so  hard  for  him  still 
harder.  Sipping  her  tea  slowly,  she  turned  the  sub- 
ject over  and  over  in  her  mind,  seeking  some  ground 
on  which  to  agree  with  him. 

She  did  this  the  moie  conscientiously,  since  she 
had  often  reproached  herself  with  a  fixity  of  principle 
that  might  with  some  show  of  reason  be  called  too 
inflexible.     Between  right  and  wrong  other  people, 
especially  the  people  of  her  "world,"  were  able  to 
see  an  infimtude  of  shadings  she  had  never  been  able 
to  distinguish.     She  half  accepted  the  criticism  often 
made  of  her  in  Paris  and  London  that  her  Puritan 
inheritance  had  given  an  inartistic  rigidity  to  her 
moral  prospect.     It  inclined  her  to  see  the  paths  of 
life  as  ruled  and  numbered  like  the  checker-board 
plan  of  an  American  city,  instead  of  twisting  and 
winding,   quaintly  and   picturesquely,  with   round- 
about evasions  and  astonishing  short-cuts,  amusing  to 
explore,  whether  for  the  finding  or  the  losing  of  the 
way,  as  in  any  of  the  capitals  long  trodden  by  the 
teet  of  men.     Between  the  straight,  broad  avenues 
of  conduct,  well  lighted  and  well  defined,  there  lay 
apparently  whole  regions  of  byways,  in  which  those 
who  could  not  easily  do  right  could  wander  vaguely 
without  precisely  doing  wrong,  following  a  line  that 
might   be   termed   permissible.     Into  this  tortuous 
maze  her  spirit  now  tried  to  penetrate,  as  occasional- 
ly, to  visit  some  historic  monument,  she  had  pluneed 
into  the  slums  of  a  medieval  town. 
It  was  an  exercise  that  brought  her  nothing  but 

III 


sai*  s»?S' .^si  ^KrrriiawiraK-i-ejjssert'-UB!:- 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRJ/CJ/ T 

a  feeling  of  bewilderment.  Having  no  sense  of 
locality  for  this  kind  of  labyrinth,  she  could  only 
turn  round  and  round  confusedly.  All  she  could  do, 
when  from  the  drooping  of  her  father's  lids  she  feared 
he  was  falling  off  to  sleep,  leaving  the  (juestion  un- 
settled, was  to  say,  helplessly: 

"I  suppose  you'll  be  sorry  now  for  having  told  me." 
He  lifted  his  long  lashes,  that  were  like  a  girl's, 
and  looked  at  her.  The  minutes  that  had  passed 
had  altered  his  expression.  There  was  again  a 
sparkle  of  resolve,  perhaps  of  relief,  in  his  glance. 
Without  changing  his  position,  he  spoke  drowsily, 
and  yet  reassuringly,  like  a  man  with  a  large  and 
easy  grasp  of  the  situation.  She  was  not  sure 
whether  it  was  a  renewal  of  confidence  on  his  part 
or  a  bit  of  acting, 

"No,  dear,  no.  I  wanted  to  get  your  point  of 
view.  It's  always  interesting  to  me^  I  see  your 
objections— of  course.  I  may  say  that  I  even  shared 
some  of  them— till— " 

She  allowed  him  a  minute  in  which  to  resume,  but, 
as  he  kept  silence,  she  ventured  to  ask: 

"Does  that  mean  that  you  don't  share  them  now?" 
"I  see  what  there  is  to  be  said— all  round.     It 
isn't  to  be  expected,  dear,  that  vou,  as  a  woman, 
not  used  to  business—" 

"Oh,  but  I  didn't  understand  that  this  ^aas  busi- 
ness I  hat's  just  the  point.  To  borrow  money 
might  be  business— to  borrow  it  on  security,  you 
kni)w,  or  whatever  else  is  the  usual  way— but' not  to 
take  it  as  a  present." 

He  jerked   himself  up   into  a   forward   posture. 

1X2 


■Mm 


^M^mJm^^SMMM^^>mM 


r 


When  he  replied   to  her,  it  was  with  didactic    ex- 
planatory irritation.  ' 

"When    I    said    that,    I    was    leRitimatelv    usinir 
language  that  might  be  called  exaggerated.   '  Hyper! 
bole  .si  believe,  tne  term  grammarians  use  for'    . 
d.dn  t  expect  you   dear,  to  take  me  up  so  litcrallv 
nsn  t  like  you.     You  generally  have  n'ore  imag  n  : 
of  a'  lo^n  1''^'"''       ""''  Davenant's  offer  was  that 
''Oh!     So  it  was— that  man.?" 

loan.  I  myself  interpreted  it  as  a  gift  simply  to  em- 
phasize Its  extraordinary  generosity.  I  thought 
you  d  appreciate  that.     Do  you  see?"  "'°"g"f 

"Perfectly,    papa;    and    it's    the    extraordinary 
generosity  that  seems  to  me  just  what  makes  it  im- 

to  us.-'     What  does  he  expect  to  gain.?" 

1  had  that  out  with  him.     He  said  he  didn't 
expect  to  gain  anything."  ^ 

II And  you  believed  him.?" 
"Partly;  though  I  suppose  he  has  something  up 
his  sleeve^    It  wasn't  my  policy  to  question  him  too 

concern.     1  need  the  money  " 

papa^r   ^°"  "^""'^  "''^  '^'  money-in  that  way, 


<< 


'I  need  it  in  any  way.     ;■•  Davenant  will  let  me 

burto'tltTrt"""^  ™  ""'  '"■■-^'•™  ""  '••''o^' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


IS    IS 


"Pff!    What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?    Thi 
business." 

"No,  papa.  It's  not  business.  It's  a  great  deal 
more — or  a  great  deal  less~I  don't  know  which." 

"You  don't  know  anything  about  it  at  all,  dear. 
You  may  take  that  from  me.  This  is  a  man's  affair. 
You  really  must  leave  it  to  me  to  deal  with  it."  Once 
more  he  fell  back  into  the  depth  of  his  arm-chair 
and  closed  his  eyes.  "If  you  don't  mind,  I  think 
I  should  like  a  little  nap.  What  have  you  got  so 
especially  against  Davenant,  anyhow?" 

"I've  nothing  against  him — except  that  I've  never 
liked  him." 

"What  do  you  know  about  him?  When  did  you 
ever  see  him?" 

"I  haven  t  seen  him  for  years — not  since  Drusilla 
used  to  bring  him  to  dances,  when  we  were  young 
girls.  She  didn't  like  it  particularly,  but  she  had  to 
do  it  because  he  was  her  father's  ward  and  had  gone 
to  live  with  them.  He  was  uncouth — aggressive. 
Wasn't  he  a  foundling,  or  a  street  Arab,  or  some- 
thing like  that  ?  He  certainly  seemed  so.  He  wasn't 
a  bit — civilized.  And  once  he — he  said  something — 
he  almost  insulted  me.  You  wouldn't  take  his 
money  now,  papa?" 

There  was  no  answer.  He  breathed  gently.  She 
spoke  more  forcibly. 

"Papa,  you  wouldn't  let  a  stranger  pay  your 
debts?" 

He  continued  to  breathe  gently,  his  eyes  closed, 
the  long  black  lashes  curling  on  his  cheek. 

"Papa,  darling,"  she  cried,  "I'll  help  you.     I'll 

114 


TnE_^TREET    CALLED    STRJrnirr 

take  everything  on  myself.  I'll  find  a  way-some- 
how.     Only,  don'i  do  this." 

He  stirred,  and  murmured  sleepily. 

"You  attend  to  your  wedding,  dear.  That  'II 
be  quite  enough  for  you  to  look  after  " 

'  I3ut  I  can't  have  a  wedding  if  Mr.  Dav.^nant  has 

o  pay  for  It.  Don  t  you  see.?  I  can't  be  married 
at   an. 

When  he  made  no  response  to  this  shot,  she  un- 
demood  finally  that  he  meant  to  let  the  subject 


immP  'ic^'^^'ibM 


FT* 


tl 


VII 


^T  was  in  the  nature  of  a  k  :f  to  Olivia 
Guion  when,  on  the  following  day,  her 
father  was  too  ill  to  go  to  his  office. 
A  cold,  caused  by  the  exposure  of  two 
nights  previous,  and  accompanied  by  a 
rising  temperature,  kept  him  confined 
to  his  room,  though  not  to  bed.  The  occurrence, 
by  maintaining  the  situation  where  it  was,  rendered 
;t  impossible  to  take  any  irretrievable  step  that  day. 
This  was  so  much  gain. 

She  had  slept  little;  she  had  passed  most  of  the 
night  in  active  and,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  lucid  think- 
ing. Among  the  points  clearest  to  Iicr  ,  -  .s  the  degree 
to  which  she  herself  was  involved  in  the  present 
business.  In  a  measure,  the  transfer  of  a  large  sum 
of  money  from  Peter  Davenant  to  her  father  would  be 
an  incident  more  vital  to  her  than  to  any  one  else, 
since  she  more  than  any  one  else  must  inherit  its 
moral  effects.  While  she  was  at  a  loss  to  see  what 
the  man  could  claim  from  them  in  return  for  his 
generosity,  she  was  convinced  that  his  exactions 
would  be  not  unconnected  with  herself.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  he  demanded  nothing,  then  the  life- 
long obligation  in  the  way  of  gratitude  that  must  thus 
be  imposed  on  her  would  be  the  most  intolerable 

ii6 


1% 


m^S^^^.%^?m:iW^l 


TnA_STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

thing  of  all.     Better  any  privation  than  the  incur- 
ring of  such  a  debt— a  debt  that  would  cover  every- 
thing  she  was   or   could    become.     Its    magnitude 
would   fill   her  horizon;   she   must   live   henceforth 
in  the  world  it  made,  her  very  personality  would 
turn  into  a  thing  of  confused  origin,  sprung,  it  -vas 
true,  from  Henry  and  Carlotta  Guion  in  the  first 
place,  but  taking  a  second  lease  of  life  from  the  man 
whose  beneficence  started  her  afresh.     She  would 
date  back  to  him,  as  barbarous  women  date  to  their 
marriage  or  Mohammedans  to  the  Flight.     It  was 
a  relation  she  could  not  have  endured  toward  a  man 
even  if  she  loved  him;  still  less  was  it  sufFerable  with 
one  whom  she  had  always  regarded  with  an  inde- 
finable disdain,  when  she  had  not  ignored  him      The 
very  possibility  that  he  might  purchase  a  hold  on 
her  inspired  a  frantic  feeling,  like  that  of  the  ermine 
at  pollution. 

Throughout  the  morning  she  was  obliged  to  con- 
ceal from  her  fnther  this  intense  opposition— or,  at 
least  to  refrain  from  speaking  of  it.     When  she  made 
the  attenipt   he  grew  so  feverish   that  the  doctor 
advised  the  postponement  of  distressing  topics  till 
he  should  be  better  able  to  discuss  them.     She  could 
only  make  him  as  comfortable  as  might  be,  ponder- 
ing while  she  covered  him  up  in  the  chaise-longue, 
putting  his  books  and  his  cigars  within  easy  reach, 
how  she  could  best  convert  him  to  her  point  of  view 
It  was  inconceivable  to  her  that  he  would  persist 
in  the  scheme  when  he  realized  how  it  would  affect 
her. 

She  had  gone  down  to  the  small  ov;.l  siitincr  room 

"7 


^sSiU^?i-iJ 


.'.i.yiLM»jJ5esHaigie- 


I! 


li 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

commanding    the   driveway,    thinking   it   probable 
that  Drusilla  Fane  might  come  to  see  her.     Watch- 
ing for  her  approach,  she  threw  open  the  French  win- 
dow set  in  the  rounded  end  of  the  room  and  leading 
out  to  the  Corinthian-columned  portico  that  adorned 
what  had  once  been  the  garden  side  of  the  house. 
There  was  no  garden  now,  only  a  stretch  of  eln:- 
shaded  lawn,  with  a  few  dahlias  and  zinnias  making 
gorgeous    clusters  ,  against    the    already    gorgeous 
autumn-tinted  shrubbery.     On  the  wall  of  a  neigh- 
boring brick  house,  Virginia  creeper  and  ampelopsis 
added  fuel  to  the  fire  of  surrounding  color,  while  a 
maple  in  the  middle  distance  blazed  with  all  the 
hues   that   might   have  flamed  in  Mojes's  burning 
bush.     It  was  one  of  those  days  of  the  American 
autumn  when  the  air  is  shot  with  gold,  when  there 
is  gold  in  the  light,  gold  on  the  foliage,  gold  on  the 
grass,  gold  on  all  surfaces,  gold  in  all  shadows,  and 
a  gold  sheen  in  the  sky  itself.     Red  gold  like  a  rich 
lacquer  overlay  the  t  unks  of  the  occasional  pines, 
and  pale-yellow  gold,  beaten  and  thin,  shimmered 
along  the  pendulous  garlands  of  the  American  elms, 
where  they  caught  the  sun.     It  was  a  windless  morn- 
ing and  a  silent  one;  the  sound  of  a  hammer  or  of  a 
motorist'r    horn,    coming    up    from    the    slope    of 
splendid  woodland   that  was   really   the   town,  ac- 
centuated   rather    than    disturbed    the    immediate 
stillness. 

J  o  0!i-ia  Guion  this  quiet  ecstasy  of  nature  was 
uplitting.  Its  rich,  rejoicing  quality  restored  as  by 
a  tonic  her  habitual  confidence  in  her  ability  to  carry 
the   strongholds   of  life   with   a    high   and   graceful 

ns 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

hand.  Difficulties  that  had  been  paramount,  over- 
powering, fell  all  at  once  into  perspective,  becoming 
heights  0  be  scaled  rather  than  barriers  defying 
pass.  ^;t .  1  or  niv-  first  time  in  the  twenty-four  hours 
sinc(  th  ■  previous  morning's  revelations,  she  thought 
of  ht.  IwNcr  as  bringing  comfort  rather  than  as  creat- 
ing compile?  r  ions. 

Up  to  this  minute  he  had  seemed  to  withdraw  from 
her,  to  elude  her.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  th-ugh  she 
spoke  of  him  rarely  and   always  with   3  ^^arposely 
prosaic  touch,  he  was  so  romantic  a  fig.        in  her 
dreams  that  the  approach  of  the  sordid  and  the  ugly 
had  dispelled  his  image.     It  was  quite  true,  as  she 
had  said  to  Drusilla  Fane,  thit  from  one  point  of 
view  she  didn't  know  him  very  well.     She  might 
have  oJid  that  she  didn't  know  him  at  all  on  any  of 
those  planes  where  rents  and  the  price  of  beef  are 
factors.     He  had  come  into  her  life  with  much  the 
same  sort  of  appeal  as  the  wandering  knight  of  the 
days  of  chivalry  made  to  the  damsel  in  the  family 
fortress.     Up  to  his  appearing  she  had  thought  her- 
self too  sophisticated  and  too  old  to  be  caught  by  this 
kind  of  fancy,  especially  as  it  was  not  the  first  time 
she  had  been  exposed  to  it.     In  the  person  of  Rupert 
Ashley,  however,  it  presented  itself  with  the  requisite 
hmitations  and   accompaniments.     He  was  neither 
so  young  nor  so  rich  nor  of  such  high  rank  as  to  bring 
a  disproportionate  element  into  their  romance,  while 
at  the  same  time  he  had  all  the  endowments  of  looks, 
birth,  and  legendary  courage  that  the  heroine  craves 
m  the  hero.     When  he  was  not  actually  under  her 
eye.s  her  imagination  embodied  him  most  easily  in 

119 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

the  svdte  elegance  of  the  King  Arthur  beside  Maxi- 
milian's tomb  at  Innspruck. 

Their  acquaintance  had  been  brief,  but  iMuminat- 
ing — one  of  those  friendships  that  can  afford  to 
transcend  the  knowledge  of  mere  outward  personal 
facts  to  leap  to  the  things  of  the  heart  and  the  spirit. 
It  was  one  of  the  commonplaces  of  their  intimate 
speech  together  that  they  "seemed  to  have  known  each 
other  always";  but  now  that  it  was  necessary  for  her 
to  possess  some  practical  measure  of  his  cl  aracter, 
she  saw,  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart,  that  they  had 
never  passed  beyond  the  stage  of  the  poetic  and 
pictorial. 

Speculating  as  to  what  he  would  say  when  he 
received  her  letter  telling  of  her  father's  misfortunes, 
she  was  obliged  to  confess  that  she  "had  not  the 
remotest  idea."  Matters  of  this  sort  belonged  to  a 
world  on  which  the\-  had  deliberately  turned  their 
backs.  That  is  to  say,  she  had  turned  her  back  on 
it  deliberately,  though  by  training  knowing  its  im- 
portance, fearing  that  to  him  it  would  seem  mundane, 
inappropriate,  American.  This  course  had  been 
well  enough  during  the  period  of  a  high-bred  court- 
ship, almost  too  fastidiously  disdainful  of  the  com- 
monplace; but  now  that  the  Fairy  Princess  had  be- 
come a  beggar-maid,  while  Prince  Charming  was 
Prince  Charming  still,  it  was  natural  that  the  former 
should  recognize  its  insufficiency.  She  had  recog- 
nized it  fully  yesterday;  but  this  morning,  in  the 
optimistic  brightness  of  the  golden  atmosphere, 
romance  came  suddenly  to  life  again  and  confidence 
grew   strong.     Drusilla   had   said   that   she,  OHvia, 

IZQ 


'■*fe>.W'^l&-.T^':-         ''■rf:U-?^k^: 


mmm^^^. 


THE    STRI'lET    C/tLLED    STR^fCJIT 

'  knew  him  well  enough  ro  \n-  sure  rliat  In-  would  want 
to  Jo  ivcrvthinK  rinhr.  Thty  would  do  tvcry- 
thiMfr  riKhr  -toKcrlKT.  I'hey  would  save  her  father 
whom  she  loved  so  tenderly,  from  making  rash  mis- 
takes, and  -who  knew?  find  a  way,  perhaps,  to 
rescue  him  m  his  troubles  and  shelter  his  old 
age. 

She  was  so  sure  of  herself  to-day,  and  so  nearly 
sure  of  Ashley,  that  even  the  shock  of  seeing  Peter 
Davenant  coming  up  the  driveway,  between  the 
clumps  of  shrubbery,  brought  her  no  dismay.  She 
was  quick  in  reading  the  situation.  It  was  after  eleven 
o  clock;  he  had  had  time  to  go  t,  Boston,  ai.d, 
learning  that  her  father  was  not  at  his  office,  had 
come  to  seek  him  at  home. 

She    made    her    arrangements    promptly.     With- 
drawing from  the  window  before  he  could  see  her 
she  bade  the  maid  say  that,  Mr.  Guion  being  ill,' 
Miss  Gmon  would  be  glad  to  see  Mr.  Davenant,  if 
he  would  have  the  kindness  to  come  in.     To  give 
an  air  of  greater  naturalness  to  the  mise-en-schw,  she 
took  a  bit  of  embroidery  from  her  work-basket,  and 
began  to  stitch  at  it,  seating  herself  near  the  open 
wmdow      She  was  not  without  a  slight,  half-amused 
sense  of  lying  in  ambush,  as  if  some  Biblical  voice 
were  saying  to  her,  "Up!  for  the  Lord  hath  delivered 
thine  enemy  into  thine  hand." 

"My  father  isn't  well,"  she  explained  to  Dave- 
nant, when  she  had  .haken  hands  with  him  and 
begged  h.m  to  sit  down.  "I  dare  say  he  may  not 
be  able  to  go  out  for  two  or  three  days  to  come." 


ai?^W^^i^Mi 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STnAIGIlT 


"So  they  told  me  at  his  office.  I  vas  sorry  to 
hear  it." 

"You've  been  to  his  office,  then?  He  told  me  you 
were  there  yesterday.  That's  partly  the  reason 
why  I've  ventured  to  ask  you  to  come  in." 

She  went  on  with  her  stitching,  turninj^  the  canvas 
first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  sticking  tfie 
needle  in  with  very  precise  care.  He  fancied  she  was 
waiting  for  him  to  "give  himself  away"  by  saying 
something,  no  matter  what.  Having,  however,  a 
talent  for  silence  without  embarrassment,  he  made 
use  of  it,  knowing  that  by  means  of  it  he  could  force 
her  to  resume. 

He  was  not  at  ease;  he  was  not  without  misgiving. 
It  had  been  far  from  his  expectation  to  see  her  on 
this  errand,  or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  on  any  errand 
at  all.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  Guion 
could  speak  to  her  of  a  transaction  so  private,  so 
secret,  as  that  proposed  between  them.  Since,  then, 
his  partner  in  the  undertaking  had  been  foolish, 
Davenant  felt  the  necessity  on  his  side  of  being 
doubly  discreet.  Moreover,  he  was  intuitive  enough 
to  feel  her  antipathy  toward  him  on  purely  general 
grounds.  "I'm  not  her  sort,"  was  the  summing-up 
of  her  sentiments  he  made  for  himself.  He  could 
not  wholly  see  why  he  excited  her  dislike  since,  be- 
\t)nd  a  moment  of  idiotic  presumption  long  ago,  he 
iiad  never  done  her  any  harm. 

He  fancied  that  his  personal  appearance,  as  much 
as  anything,  was  displeasing  to  her  fastidiousness. 
He  was  so  big,  so  awkward;  his  hands  and  feet  were 
so  clunis\'.     \  little  more  and  he  would  have  been 

122 


riih:  sTREF/r  caij.ed  ^traiciit 

uiiKiiinly;  pcih.ips  sho  con,si(len;d   him   unK^iinly  as 
It  w.-is.      II,:   had   Mi,(l   ro   negative   his   defects   hy 
spetKhn^  a  unat  deal  of  money  on  his  clothes  and 
bemj^  as  parricular  as  a  fiirl  about  his  nails;  but  he 
felt  that  with  all  his  efforts  he  was  but  a  bumpkin 
compared  with  certain  other    nen      Rodney  Tern ^  .e, 
for   example     who    never    took    any    pains    at    all.' 
Looking  at  her  now,  her  pure,  exquisite  profile  bent 
over  her  piece  of  work,  while  the  sun  struck  coppery 
gleams  from  her  masses  of  brown  hair,  he  felt  as  he 
had  often  felt  in  rooms  filled  with  fragile  specimens 
of   art -flower-like    cups    of   ancient    glass,    dainty 
groups  m  Meissen,  mystic  lovelinesses  wrought  in 
amber,  ivory,  or  jade    -as  if  his  big,  gross  personality 
ought  to  shrmk  into  itself  and  he  should  walk  on 
tiptoe. 

"1  understand  from  my  father,"  she  said,  when 
she  found  herself  obliged  to  break  the  silence,  "that 
you've^  ofl^ered  to  help  him  in  his  difficulties.  I 
couldn't  let  the  occasion  pass  without  telling  you 
how  much  I  appreciate  your  generosity." 

She  spoke  without  looKing  up;  words  and  tone 
were  gently  courteous,  but  they  afl^ected  him  like 
an  April  zephyr,  that  ought  to  bri:ig  the  balm  of 
spring,  and  yet  has  the  chill  of  ice  in  it. 

"Haven't  vou  noticed,"  he  said,  slowlv,  choosing 
his  words  with  care,  "that  generosity  consists  large- 
ly in  the  point  of  view  of  the  other  party.!*  You 
may  give  away  an  old  cloak,  for  the  sake  of  gettin;:; 
nd  of  it;  but  the  person  who  receives  it  thinks  you 
kind." 

"I  see  that,"  she  admitted,  going  on  with   her 

123 


^i^r^&wmafT^samm. 


'liir^  .        \  .  ■*=(•'  ■• 


'^Ai'ii?-^     ^'>:ii 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRJICH T 

work,  "and  yet  there  are  people  to  whom  I  shouldn't 
offer  an  old  cloak,  even  if  I  had  one  to  give  away." 

He  colored  promptly.  "You  mean  that  if  they 
needed  anything  3'ou'd  offer  them  the  hestyou  had." 

"I  wonder  if  you'd  understand  that  I'm  not 
speaking  ungraciously  if  I  said  that — I  shouldn't 
ofl[^"er  them  anything  at  all?" 

He  put  up  his  hand  and  stroked  his  long,  fair 
mustache.  It  was  the  sort  of  rebuke  to  which  he- 
was  sen^iitive.  It  seemed  to  relegate  him  to  another 
land,  another  world,  another  species  of  being  from 
those  to  which  she  belonged.  It  was  a  second  or 
two  before  he  could  decide  what  to  say.  "No,  Miss 
Guion,"  he  answered  then;  "I  don't  understand  that 
point  of  view." 

"I'm  sorrv.     I  hoped  vou  would." 

"Why?"  ' 

She  lifted  her  clear  gray  eyes  on  him  for  the 
briefest  possible  look.     "Need  I  explain?" 

The  question  gave  him  an  advantage  he  was  quick 
to  seize.  "Not  at  all.  Miss  Guion.  You've  a  right 
to  your  own  judgments.     I  don't  ask  to  know  them." 

"But  I  thinK  you  ought.  When  you  enter  into 
\vhat  is  distinctly  our  private  family  affair,  I've  a 
right  to  give  my  opinion." 

"You  don't  think  I  question  that?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  do.  I  imagine  you're  capable  of 
carrying  your  point,  regardless  of  what  I  feel." 

"But  I've  no  point  to  carry.  I  find  Mr.  Guion 
wanting  to  borrow  a  sum  of  money  that  I'm  prepared 
to  lend.     It's  a  common  situation  in  business." 

"Ah,  but  this  is  not  business.     It's  charity." 

124 


■f^JKl^k :  f-i'SM^it  ^^- 


^iri_ 


iJ^^i  dirf!2iBti^ 


jg^MJ^iiB^f^a2S!Siiif^it^s^avssr^^.':2iei^^-^;sugr3i>^^:s£. 


TIIR    S TRE E r    CAL L KIljn^RAIGIl T 

"Did  Mr.  (miiom  rdl  ymi  so?" 

"He  (lid.     He  fold  me  all  about  ir.     My  father 
has  no  secrets  from  me." 

"Did  he  use  the  word     charity.?" 

"Almost      He  said  you  offered  him  a  loan,  but 
th:  tit  really  was  a  Kift." 

His  first  impulse  was  to  repudiate  this  point  of 
view  but  a  rnmute's  reflection  decided  him  in  favor 
of  plam  speakmg.  "Well,"  he  .said,  slowly,  "sup- 
pose  It  u'as  a  gift  Would  there  be  any  harm  in  it  '" 
Ihere  wouldn't  be  any  harm,  perhaps;  there 
wou  d  only  be  an--,mpossibility."  She  worked  very 
bus.Iy  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  without  looking  up 
A  gift  implies  two  conditions  -on  the  one  side  the 
right  to  offer,  and  on  the  other  the  freedom  to  t^.ke  ' 

liut  I  should  say  that  those  conditions  existed 
—between  Mr.  Guion  and  me." 
Tu''^^  "o^  between  you  and  me.     Don't  you  see? 
ihat  s  the  point.     To  any  such  transaction  as  this 
J^have  to  be,  in  many  ways,  the  most  important 

Again  he  was  tempted  to  reject  this  interpretation- 
but,  once  more,  on  second  thought,  he  allowed  it  to 
go  uncontested.  When  l.e  spoke  it  was  to  pass  to 
anotfier  order  of  question. 

"I  wonder  how  much  you  know?" 

''About  my  father's  affairs.?  I  know  everything  " 
t-very  thing.?"  ^^ 

"Yes;    everything.     He    told    me    yesterday      I 

didn  t  expect  him  to  come  home  last  night  at  all- 

osed  "  ''^"'^""^"'^   '°^^  "^^   ^hat   you   had   pro- 

i2S 


~rr-'T"r-rr-™ri —  rrrri  ^r'-— 'iTriirfTWM-i["irii — ^••niT~iiTrTriwriTirrmnrrairrTHTiri»Ti^iiiiii  i-v    -"t 


F 


» 


1 


A 


THE    STREET    CALLED    S  T  RAJ  Gil  T 

"^'ou  understood,  then,"  Davenant  stammtrt-d, 
"that  hi'  ini<j;h.t  have  to     to — go  avvayf" 

"Oil,  |H  itcerl\ ." 

"Anil  aren't  \  (Ui  very  much  appalled?" 

I  he  question  was  wrung  from  him  by  sheer  as- 
tonishment. That  she  should  sit  calmly  embroider- 
ing a  sofa-cushion,  with  this  knowledge  in  her  heart, 
with  this  possibility  hanging  over  her,  seemed  to  him 
to  pass  the  limits  of  the  human.  He  knew  there  were 
heroic  women;  but  he  had  not  supposed  that  with  all 
their  heroism  they  carried  themselves  with  such 
sang-froid.  Before  repl\  ing  she  took  time  to  search 
in  her  work-basket  ft)r  another  skein  of  silk. 

"Appalled  is  scarcelv  the  word.  C)f  course,  it 
Was  a  blow  to  me;  but  1  hojie  I  know  how  to  take  a 
bK)W  without  riinching." 

"(Vn,  hilt  ont'  like  this 

"We're  able  to  bear  it. 
we  can't.'  If  we  didn't  tr 
volve  ourselves  in  worse." 

"Hut  how  could  there  be  worse."" 
1  hat's  what  I  don't  know.     \'ou  see,  when  vav 
father  told  me  of  \our  kind  offer,  he  didn't  tell  me 
what  \ou  wanted.  " 

"Did  he  say  I  wanted  anything"" 

"He  said  \  ou  hadn't  asked  fot  an\  thing.  That's 
what  leaves  us  so  much  in  tb.e  dark." 

"Is'nt  It  conceivable  "  he  began,  with  a  slighcl'.- 
in!//.kd  air. 

"Not  that  it  matters,"  she  interrupted,  hurnedlr. 
"Ot  course,  if  we  had  anything  vvith  which  to  com- 
pensatf   \on     an",  thing  adequate,   that   is    -I    don't 

i.:o 


What  makes  \ou  think 
,  we  should  probablv  in- 


ysm^mge^^m^Hf^^^mmmm^-Mm^^i 


TW- 


7S^ 


s.-,y  thar  w,.  .vh„„|,|n>  cnsid.r  s,.„„„slv   ,h,  „„. 

^ou  tee."        "      "  ""■  ■'""'''""  ''^■''"'"■'^-     '  I"'.- 
"Isn't  it  conc(Mvablo,"  he  ncrsistcd    "^^M^ 

""^!t::  t^  "T  °--"  '•  4.  w-;l;;,;"^':: 

W  'hout  askiriK  for  an  equivalent  In  return' 
loss,bly  But  ,n  thi.  ca.,e  it  would  „„i;  ^X\, 
harder  for  me,  ^   "ukc  it 

"How  so?" 
.  "By  putting  me  under  an  overwhelming'  ohh.r.. 
t.on  to  a  total  stranger    -an  ohhgat.on  Z^L^^ 
bear   wh.le  st.ll  less  could  I  do  away  with  it." 

1  don  t  see,     he  reasoned,  "that  you'd  he  under 

"At  present,"  she  corrected,  "we're  not  under  an 
pbl,Bat.on  to  any  one.    My  father  and  I  are  c  nand 

iniiruairTk?""^^  "'■"= ""'  -«<■"«  f^"or;l? 

inaividuals.  1  know  we  owe  money  -a  great  de-.l 
°^?;°f  y-fo  a  good  many  people  -"        ^  "' 

^  VVhr    are  total  strangers,  just  like  me  " 

ers  whom  \  r' •"l'"^'"'^'  ''^^'>'""  buttotalstrang- 
about  and  rt  '^"^^"'.^"^  d'^"'^  l^now  anvthu'g 
numb;rs  ''  "'"^'  '"^P^^"^"^'  ^^-"  ^^^-  v<ry 

"But  you  know  Mrs.    Rodman  and   Mrs.   Clay 
Ihey  re  not  impersonal  "  ^" 

hef  neediriir  '^'  '^^-^  --^  that  she  arrested 

pe  feci  std^i     k"  i^:""^*^.  '^'--   '''''^-     '^ho  sat 
pertectly  st.ll,  her  head  bent,  her  fingers  ritid.  a.s  she 

12/ 


I 

I' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

might  have  sat  in  trying  to  catch  some  sudden, 
distant  sound.  It  was  only  in  thinking  it  over  after- 
ward that  he  reaHzed  what  she  must  have  Hved 
through  in  the  seconds  before  she  spoke. 

"Does  my  father  owe  money  to  them?" 

The  hint  of  dismay  A^as  so  faint  that  it  might  have 
eluded  any  ear  but  one  rendered  sharp  by  suspicion. 
Davenant  felt  the  blood  rushing  to  his  temples  and 
a  singing  in  his  head.  "  My  God,she  didn't  know!" 
he  cried,  inwardly.  The  urgency  of  retrieving  his 
mistake  kept  him  calm  and  cool,  prompting^  him  to 
reply  with  assumed  indifference. 

"I  really  can't  say  anything  about  it.  I  suppose 
they  would  be  among  the  creditors — as  a  matter  of 
course." 

For  the  first  time  she  let  her  clear,  grave  eyes  rest 
fail/  on  him.  They  were  quiet  eyes,  with  exquisitely 
finished  Hds  and  lashes.  In  his  imagination  their 
depth  of  what  seemed  like  devotional  reverie  con- 
tributed more  than  anything  else  to  her  air  of  separa- 
tion and  remoteness. 

"Isn't  it  very  serious — ^when  there's  anything 
wrong  with  estates?" 

He  answered  readily,  still  forcing  a  tone  of  care- 
less matter-of-fact. 

"Of  course  it's  serious.  Everything  is  serious  in 
business.  Your  father's  affairs  are  just  where  they 
can  be  settled — now.  But  if  we  put  it  off  any 
longer  it  might  not  be  so  easy.  Men  often  have  to 
take  charge  of  one  another's  affairs — ^and  straighten 
them  out — and  advance  one  another  money — and  all 
that — in  business." 

128 


:?5fSKie-^B5 


-aa^^ai 


She  looked  away  from  \nm^^^iZ^^^^^d^^^ 
appeared  not  to  be  listening.  There  was  something 
in  her  manner  that  advised  him  of  the  uselessness  of 
saying  anythmg  more  in  that  vein.     After  a  wh"  e  she 

W      The"")''  '"°"V^'"^'  ''  "'^-^""^  — -     e 
knet.     The  ony  sign  she  gave  of  being  unusuallv 

moved  was  m  nsmg  from  her  chair  and  |oing  to  the 
open  wmdow.  where  she  stood  with  her  back  to  hm 
apparently   watching   the   dartings   from   pom t  To 
point  of  a  sharp-eyed  gray  squirrel  ^ 

K.s.ng  as  she  did,   he  stood  waiting  for  her  to 
turn  and  say  something  else.     Now  that  the  truth 

f.  I;  V  r  ?  T"^  "'""'■•  ^'  ^°"'^  show  her  the 
fut.h ty  of  further  opposition.  He  would  have  been 
glad  to  keep  her  ignorant;  he  regretted  the  error  into 
which  she  herself  unwittingly  had  led  him;  but  s  n  e 

disaster  ir>  ^°'"'"'"^?'  '^  ^-'^  not  b^  wh'olly  a 
disaster  if  it  summoned  her  to  yield 

Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  he  had  time  to 

ner  back  to  him.     It  was  to  consider  himself  for- 

view  ot  all  the  circumstances,  it  was  a  great  thine 
to  ave  passed  through  that  phase  and' come  ouf 
ot  it.     He  had  read  somewhere  that  a  man  is  never 

he  could  fairly  believe  himself  immune    as  after  J 

wo"rh'"^°'  r^'- '' ''  -- "-  fo  h  h 

would  have  found  in  her  hostility  to  his  efforts  and 

^JTTulr '"'  ''"^°"  ^  ^em^ptation-a  temp't" - 
tion  to  which  he  was  specially  liable  in  regard  to 

129 


w^s^^^ssm^s:amiiSi'ri^'¥mm^Ksii]ii2Si 


THE    STREET    CJ L LED    STRAIGIl T 

living  thinns  to  feci  that  it  was  his  ri^lit  to  curb  the 
spirit  and  tame  the  rcbclhon  of  whatever  was  restive 
to  his  control.  There  was  somethinf;  in  this  hauj;htv , 
I'li^h-strung  creature,  poising  herself  in  silence  to 
stand  upright  in  the  face  of  fate,  that  would  have 
called  forth  his  impulse  to  dominate  her  will,  to  sub- 
due her  lips  to  his  own,  if  he  had  really  cared.  For- 
tunately, he  didn't  care,  and  so  could  seek  her  wel- 
fare with  detachment. 

Turning  slowly,  she  stood  grasping  the  back  of  the 
chair  from  which  she  had  risen.  He  always  remem- 
bered afterward  that  it  was  a  chair  of  which  the  flow- 
ing curves  and  rich  interlacings  of  design  contrasted 
with  her  subtly  emphasizx'd  simplicity.  He  had 
once  had  the  morbid  curiosity  to  watch,  in  an  Eng- 
lish law-court,  the  face  and  attitude  of  a  woman  - 
a  surgeon's  wife — standing  in  the  dock  to  be  sentenced 
to  death.  It  seemed  to  him  now  that  Olivia  Guion 
stood  like  her — with  the  same  resoluteness,  not  so 
much  desperate  as  slightly  dazed. 

"Wasn't  it  for  something  of  that  kind — some- 
thing wrong  with  estates — that  Jack  Berrington  was 
sent  to  prison?" 

The  question  took  him  unawares.  "I — I  don't 
remember." 

"  I  do.  I  should  think  you  would.  The  trial  was  in 
all  the  papers.  It  was  the  Gray  estate.  He  was  Mrs. 
Gray's  trustee.     He  ruined  the  whole  Gray  family." 

"Possibly."  He  did  his  best  to  speak  airily. 
"  In  the  matter  of  estates  there  are  all  sorts  of  hitches 
that  can  happen.  Some  are  worse  than  others,  of 
course — " 

150 


"I've  seen  his  wife,  Ada  lierrinKton,  once  or  twice, 
when  I  ve  been  m  Paris.  She  lives  there,  waiting 
for  h,m  t(,  come  out  of  SinRville.  She  avoids  her  old 
triends  when  she  can— but  I've  seen  her." 

"I  think  I  remember  hearing  about  "them,"  he 
said,  for  the  sake  of  saying  something;  "but—" 

I   should   like  to  go  and  talk  with  my  father 
Would  you  mmd  waiting?" 

She  made  as  though  she  would  pass  him,  but  he 
managed  to  bar  her  war. 

"I  wouldn't  do  that  if  I  were  you,  Miss  Guion. 
U  he  s  not  well  ,t  11  only  upset  him.  Why  not  let 
every thmg  be  just  as  it  is.?  You  won't  regret  it  a 
year  hence-bel.eve  me.  In  nine  things  out  of  ten 
you  d  know  better  than  I;  but  this  is  the  tenth  thing, 
m  which  I  know  better  than  you.  Why  not  trust 
"i<;/-ana  'ct  me  have  a  free  hand.?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  go  to  my  father.  If  you'll 
be  kmd  enough  to  wait,  I'll  come  back  and  tell  you 
what  he  says.  Then  we  shall  know.  Will  you 
please  let  me  pass.?"  ^ 

He  moved  to  one  side.     He  thought  again  of  the 
woman  m  the  Enghsh  law-court.     It  was   like  this 
that  she  walked  from  the  dock-erect,  unflinching 
graceful,  with  eyes  hxed  straight  before  her,  as  though 
she  saw  somethmg  in  the  air. 

He  watched  her  cross  the  hall  to  the  foot  of  the 
sta.rcase^  1  here  she  paused  pensively.  In  a  minute 
or  two  she  came  back  to  the  sitting-room  door. 

If  .t  should  be  like  -like  jack  Herrington,"  she 
•sa.d,  from  the  thresh„Id,  with  a  kind  of  concen;rated 
qu.et    m    her    manner,    "then -what    you    sun- 

131 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


gested  —  won M  be  more  ouv:  of  the  question  than 


ever 


I  don't  see  that,"  he  returned,  adopting  her  own 
tone.  "I  should  think  it  would  be  just  the  other 
way. 

She  shook  her  head. 

**There  are  a  lot  of  points  of  view  that  you  haven't 
seen  yet,"  he  persisted.  "I  could  put  some  of  them 
before  you  if  you'd  give  me  time." 

"It  would  be  no  use  doing  that.  I  should  never 
believe  anything  but  that  we,  my  father  and  I, 
should  bear  the  responsibilities  of  our  own  acts." 

"You'll  think  difFereutly,"  he  began,  "when  you've 
looked  at  the  thing  all  round;  and  then — " 

But  before  ^e  could  complete  his  sentence  she  had 
gone. 

Having  seen  her  go  up-stairs,  he  waited  in  some 
uncertainty.  When  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  had 
gone  by  and  she  did  not  return,  he  decided  to  wait 
no  longer.  Picking  up  his  hat  and  stick  from  the 
chair  on  which  he  had  laid  them,  he  went  out  by 
the  French  window,  making  his  way  to  the  gate 
across  the  lawn. 


VIII 

PDING  the  door  of  her  father's  room 
:tjar,  Miss  Guion  pushed  it  open  and 
went  in. 

Wearing  a  richly  quilted  dressing- 
gown,  with  cuffs  and  rolled  collar  of 
lavender  silk,  he  lay  asleep  in  the  chaise- 
longue  a  tan-colored  rug  across  his  feet.  On  a  table 
at  his  left  stood  a  silver  box  containing  cigars,  a 

silver  l'"T'   '   "'"'/■  "^^^-h-box,   and   a^mall 
Mlver  lamp  burning  with  a  tiny  flame.     Each  piece 
was  engraved  with  his  initials  and  a  coat-of-arms. 
Un  his  right  there  was  an  adjustable  reading-stand, 
ol  h^  T  T'"  ?P^  ^^  "  ^'""^  English  review! 
se^l  rin     K        T^  T''^  ^"  elaborately  emblazoned 
sea  -ring,  hung  heavily  toward  the  floor;  a  cigar  that 
had  gone  out  was  still  between  the  fingers.     His 
head,  resting  on  a  cushion  of  violet  brocade,  had 
fallen  slightly  to  one  side. 
She  sat  down  beside  him,  to  wait  till  he  woke  up 

scoting     Above  the  woodwork  it  was  papered  in 
pale  yellow.     On  the  walls  there  were  water-colors 
prints   photographs,  and  painted  porcelain  plaques! 
tionll  '^'   t'   ^^^«^^^i^e   rather   than    devo- 

tional purposes,  hung  an  old  French  ivory  crucifix 

^3  * 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


i 


i^ 


,: 


while  lower  down  was  a  silver  holy-water  stoup  of 
Venetian  make,  that  was  oftenest  used  for  matches. 
It  had  been  the  late  Mrs.  Guion's  room,  and  expressed 
her  taste.  It  contained  too  many  ornaments,  too 
many  knickknacks,  too  many  mirrors,  too  many 
wardrobes,  too  many  easy-chairs,  too  much  embossed 
silver  on  the  dressing-table,  too  much  old  porcelain, 
wherever  there  was  a  place  for  it.  Everything  was 
costly,  from  the  lace  coverlet  on  the  bed  <-o  the  Per- 
sian rugs  on  the  floor. 

Olivia  looked  vaguely  about  the  room,  as  on  an 
apartment  she  had  never  before  seen.  She  found 
herself  speculating  as  to  the  amount  these  elaborate 
furnishings  would  fetch  if  sold.  She  recalled  the 
fact,  forgotten  till  now,  that  when  the  Berringtons' 
belongings,  purchased  with  reckless  extravagance, 
passed  under  the  hammer,  they  had  gone  for  a  song. 
She  made  the  same  forecast  regarding  the  contents 
of  Tory  Hill.  Much  money  had  been  spent  on  them, 
but,  with  the  exception  perhaps  of  some  of  the  old 
portraits,  there  was  little  of  real  intrinsic  value. 
She  made  the  reflection  coldly,  drearily,  as  bearing 
on  things  that  had  no  connection  with  herself. 

Her  eyes  traveled  back  to  her  father.  With  the 
muscles  of  the  face  relaxe  ^  in  sleep,  he  looked  old 
and  jaded.  The  mustache,  which  had  not  been 
waxed  or  curled  that  day,  sagged  at  the  corners, 
the  mouth  sagging  under  it.  Above  the  line  of  the 
beard  the  skin  was  mottled  and  puffy.  The  lashes 
rested  on  his  cheeks  with  the  luxuriance  of  a 
girl's,  and  the  splendid  eyebrows  had  all  their 
fullness;   but  the  lids  twitched  and  quivered  like 

134 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

those  of  a  child  that  has  fallen  asleep  during  a  fit  of 
weeping.  t-  &         ui 

It  was  this  twitching  that  softened  her,  that  com- 
pelled her  to  judge  him  from  the  most  merciful  point 
ot  view.     There  was  something  piteous  about  him, 
something  that  silenced  reproaches,  that  disarmed 
severity.     She   had   come   up-stairs   staggered,    in- 
credulous-^ncredulous    and    yet    convinced-A)ut- 
raged,  terrified;  but  now  the  appeal  of  that  fagged 
face  and  those  quivering  lids  was  too  strong  for  her 
It  wrought  m  her  not  so  much  sympathy  as  com- 
prehension, an  understanding  of  him   such   as  she 
had  never  before  arrived  at.     In  his  capacity  of 
father  she  had  loved  him  i-restrainedly,  but  ad- 
mired him  with  reserves.     It  was  impossible  not  to 
love  a  parent  so  handsome,  so  genial,  so  kind,  so 
generally  admired;  it  was  equally  impossible  not  to 
criticize,  however  gently,  a  man  with  such  a  love  of 
luxury,  of  unwarranted  princeliness,  and  of  florid 
display.     She  was   indulgent  to  his   tastes  in   the 
degree  to  which  a  new  and  enlightened  generation 

hn?    u  IT""  °?  ""^^  ^'■'■°"  °f  ^^^f  preceding  it, 

but  she  could  not  ignore  the  fact  that  the  value  he 
set  on  things-m  morals,  society,  or  art-depended 
on  heir  power  to  strike  the  eye.  She  had  smiled 
U:«  ql'^'u  7°"'^''^;"^  which,  after  all,  was  harm- 
less,    bhe  had  smiled,  too,  when  he  offered  to  him- 

K  .f"  u'''  ^'^'  ^''°'  •'  ^^^  f«  be  admitted-the 
bes  of  whatever  could  be  had,  since,  presumably,  he 
could  afford  it;  though,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned^ 
she  would  have  been  happier  with  simpler  standards 
and  a  less  ambitious  mode  of  life.     In  following  the 

^35 


^m 


■4 


•I 


I 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

path  her  parents  had  marked  out  for  her,  and  to 
some  extent  beaten  in  advance,  she  had  acquiesced 
in  their  plans  rather  than  developed  wishes  of  her 
own.  Having  grown  tired  of  her  annual  round  of 
American  and  English  country-houses,  with  inter- 
ludes for  Paris,  Biarritz,  or  Cannes,  she  had  gone 
on  chiefly  because,  as  far  as  she  could  see,  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do. 

Looking  at  him  now,  it  came  over  her  for  the  first 
time  that  she  must  be  a  disappointment  to  him.  He 
had  never  given  her  reason  to  suspect  it,  and  yet  it 
must  be  so.  First  among  the  aims  for  which  he  had 
been  striving,  and  to  attain  to  which  he  had  hazarded 
so  much,  there  must  have  been  the  hope  that  she 
should  make  a  brilliant  match.  That,  and  that  alone, 
would  have  given  them  as  a  family  the  sure  inter- 
national position  he  had  coveted,  and  which  plenty 
of  other  Americans  were  successful  in  securing. 

It  was  only  of  late  years,  with  the  growth  of  her 
own  independent  social  judgment,  that  she  could 
look  back  over  the  past  and  see  the  Guions  as  in  the 
van  of  that  movement  of  the  New  World  back  upon 
the  Old  of  which  the  force  was  forever  augmenting. 
As  Drusilla  Fane  v/as  fond  of  saying,  it  was  a  mani- 
festation of  the  nomadic,  or  perhaps  the  predatory, 
spirit  characteristic  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  peoples. 
It  was  part  of  that  impulse  to  expand,  annex,  ap- 
propriate, which  had  urged  the  Angles  to  descend 
on  the  shores  of  Kent  and  the  Normans  to  cross  from 
Dives  to  Hastings.  Later,  it  had  driven  their  de- 
scendants over  the  Atlantic,  as  individuals,  as  house- 
holds, or  as  "churches";  and  now,  from  their  rich, 

1^6 


^niA^LMiLSAlLED_STRAIGHT 
comfortable  commonplace  homes  in  New  England 

lift  up  their  eye.,  and  see  how  much  there  was  to  be 
de   red  m  the  lands  their  ancestors  had  left  behind 
tair  parks   stately  manors,  picturesque  chateaux 
sonorous  titles,  and  varied,  dignified  ways  of  I  ving' 
To  a  people  with  the  habit  of  compassing  sea  and 
land  to  get  whatever  was  good  to  have  the  voyage 
back  was  nothing,  especially  in  the  days  of  easv 
money  and  steam.     The  Guions  had  been  among  Z 
first  to  make  It.     They  had  been  among  theVrst 
Americans  to  descend  on  the  shores  of  Europe  with 
he  mtention-more  or  less  obscure,  more  orTss 
acknowledged,  as  the  case  might  be-of  acquiring 
and  enjoying  the  treasures  of  tradition  by  associa? 
tion  or  alliance  or   any  other   means    that   mTght 

oTHelv  Or'^^-     ?'^1:"''    «"-"•    S'-'lf™' 
ot  Henry  Guion,  found  the  way  to  cut  a  da^h  \r. 

t  e  Pansof  the  early  Second  ErJipire  and  to  '^  r  ; 
Melcoln    'f       '"T'  ^"T'   ^^   '^'  Marquis   de 

view  of   h..  H^""    '^AA  ""^P'"    ^'"^"^^^    P''"^    of 
view  of  that  day  and  date  ,t  was  a  dazzhng  match 

long  talked  of  by  the  naive  press  of  New  York 
Boston,  and  Philadelphia.  ' 

By  the  more  ambitious  members  of  the  Guion 
house  .t  was  considered  as  the  beginning  of  a  g io" 
nous  epoch;  but,  looking  back  now,  Olivfa  could  see 

bHHir'r  "'^  "^"'^^  ^^'  ^^^"-    ^^--  those  day   a 
bnll  ant  American  society  had  sprung  up  on   the 

their  roo,,  t   T  ^'"'""  ^'^"'^  gladly  have  struck 
their  roots  mto  that  sturdy  trunk,  they  lacked  the 

m 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


i- 

f  ■ 

i 
.'If 


money  essential  to  parasitic  growth.  As  for  Vic- 
toria Guion,  French  life,  especially  the  old  royalist 
phase  of  it,  which  offers  no  crevices  on  its  creaseless 
bark  in  which  a  foreign  seed  can  germinate,  absorbed 
her  within  its  tough  old  blossom  as  a  pitcher-plant 
sucks  in  a  fly.  Henceforth  the  utmost  she  could  do 
for  her  kith  and  kin  was  to  force  open  the  trap  from 
time  to  time,  so  that  Olivia,  if  she  liked,  could  be 
swallowed,  too.  In  that  task  the  old  lady  was  not 
only  industrious  but  generous,  offering  to  subscribe 
handsomely  toward  the  dot,  as  well  as  giving  it  to  be 
understood  that  the  bride-elect  would  figure  in  the 
end  as  her  residuary  legatee.  Owing  to  this  pros- 
pect Olivia  had  been  compelled  to  decline  a  comte 
and  a  vicomte  of  crusading  ancestry,  procured  at 
some  pains  by  Madame  de  Melcourt;  but  when  she 
also  refused  the  eminently  eligible  Due  de  Berteuil, 
whose  terms  in  the  way  of  dowry  were  reasonable, 
while  he  offered  her  a  splendidly  historic  name  and 
background,  the  Marquise  not  unnaturally  lost  her 
temper  and  declared  that  she  washed  her  hands  of 
her  grandniece  once  for  all. 

Not  till  this  minute  had  Olivia  ever  considered 
that  this  reluctance  on  her  part  to  be  "well  establish- 
ed" must  have  been  something  like  a  grief  to  her 
father,  for  he  had  never  betrayed  a  sign  of  it.  On 
the  contrary,  he  had  seemed  to  approve  her  decisions, 
and  had  even  agreed  with  her  in  preferring  the  mistle- 
toe to  the  pitcher-plant.  He  welcomed  her  back 
to  Tory  Hill,  where  her  residences  were  longer,  now 
that  she  ceased  to  be  much  with  Madame  de  Mel- 
court, and  yet  was  always  ready  with  money  and  his 

138 


\i 


I 


abroad.  On  her  engagement  to  Rupert  Ashlev  he 
expressed  complete  satisfaction,  and  said  in  so  manu 
words  that  .t  was  a  more  appropriate  match  foT  he^ 
han  any  trench  aihance,  however  distinguished 
H.S  tenderness  m  this  respect  came  over  her  now  as 
pecuharly  touchmg,  unseahng  the  fount  of  fili"  pitv 
at  a  moment  when  other  motives  might  have  made 
for  indignation  and  revolt 

"Hallo!    What  are  you  lookins  at  mc  for  '" 

an  if^p'carior:/^;,""'"'™'' '"  ^'"•-  '-"^  ■"  ■' 

He  gazed  at  her  without  moving  a  muscle  or 
changmg  a  shade.     She  only  fancied  that  in  the  Ion, 
look  w,eh  wh.ch  he  regarded  her  there  was  a  recedin / 

"What  makes  you  ask  that?" 

The   intonation    was   expressionless,   and    yet    it 
seemed  to  her,  a  httle  wary.  ^    ' 

^  JI  ask  chiefly  because-well,  because  I  think  they 

^^  HHooked  at  her  for  a  minute  more,  perhaps  for 

"Well,  then— you're  right  " 

yeft!rt;^'o?^l'^*^  ".T'"?'  ^^'"''-^^  ^"  J^-  -"- 
he    whilf 'h  '^'''^'^   r''"^'   ^"   P'^'^-^^   around 

her  while  her  own  personality  survived.     When  she 

^39 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

spoke,  her  voice  sounded  as  if  it  came  out  of  the 
wildness  of  a  surging  wreck. 

"Then  that's  what  you  meant  in  saying  yester- 
day that  when  everything  was  settled  you  still 
wouldn't  be  able  to  pay  all  you  owed." 

"That's  what  I  meant — exactly." 

He  lay  perfectly  still,  except  that  he  raised  his 
hand  and  puffed  at  his  extinct  cigar.  She  looked 
down  at  the  pattern  on  the  Persian  rug  beside  his 
couch — a  symmetrical  scroll  of  old  rose,  on  a  black 
ground  sown  with  multicolored  flowerets. 

"I  suppose  it's  the  Clay  heirs  and  the  Rodman 
heirs  you  owe  the  money  to?" 

"And  the  Compton  heirs,  and  old  Miss  Burnaby, 
and  the  two  Misses  Brown,  and — " 

"Haven't  they  anything  left.?" 

"Oh  yes.  It  isn't  all  gone,  by  any  means."  Then 
he  added,  as  if  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  affair 
and  be  done  with  it:  "The  personal  property — what 
you  may  call  the  cash — is  mostly  gone!  Those  that 
have  owned  real  estate — like  the  Rodmans  and 
Fanny  Burnaby — well,  they've  got  that  still." 

"I  see."  She  continued  to  sit  looking  medita- 
tively down  at  the  rug.  "  I  suppose,"  she  ventured, 
after  long  thinking,  "that  that's  the  money  we've 
been  living  on  all  these  years?" 

"Yes;  in  the  main."  He  felt  it  useless  to  quibble 
or  to  try  to  extenuate  the  facts. 

"How  many  years  would  that  be?" 

"I'm  not  very  sure;  on  and  off,  it's  about  ten  since 
I  began  using  some  of  their  money  to — help  out  my 
income.     Latterly — you   may   as  well   know   it — 

140 


^te. 


IM^TREEL_CALLED_STRAIGIl  T 


any   real    income   of  my 


own    at 


I   haven't   had 
all." 

all'^F^^s.'' ''  ""'"  '"""'^  ^""^  ^'^'^  P^>''"K  f«r-for 
.    Her  hands  made  a  confused  little  gesture   indic;,r 
Z  to'r''  "'  ''^  ^— '  appoLr;;"and"f 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  arched   his  eve 
brows  m  a  k.nd  of  protest,  which  was  nevertheless" 
not   denial.     '«W-well!     If  you   choose    toTut   it 

peevishness,     for  going  so  terribly  into  detail  " 

I  don  t  see  how  it  can  be  helped.     It's  so  aueer 

wt  re."^-'°  '"'"^  ''^  ^"^  -  -cVtrt 

"tha^t  Mr"°n    '''^  '"¥"Vr  '^•"  'he  interrupted, 
tnat  Mr.  Davenant  shou  d  nav  for  It     Tfc,,  / 

to  me  to  male  it  even  worse Zn-than  before""'"^ 

plained      "If  L''h'"  '"""T '^°?   "'"''"  ^e  com- 
'"Wouldn^ytth^r-"'"  '  ^°  "  ^'"«^"''" 

"Wo'.ld'yot.."'"""  """^  '■"'°  '  ^'"'"^  P°«"-- 

I  5'",j''''  r°'  '"^''"''^  ■"  her  reply.     "Yes    nan;. 
I  woa«  rather-if  I  were  you."  ^  ^ 

141 


i 


!■ 


THE    STREET    CHILLED    STRAIGHT 

"  But  since  you're  not  me — since  you  are  yourself 
— would  you  still  rather  that  I  went  to  SinRviiie?" 

There  was  a  little  lift  to  her  chin,  a  faint  color  in 
her  face  as  she  replied:  "I'd  rather  pay— however  I 
did  it.  I'd  rather  pay — in  any  way — than  ask  sonu- 
one  else  to  do  it." 

He  fell  back  on  the  cushion  of  violet  brocade. 
"So  would  I — if  I  had  only  myself  to  think  of. 
We're  alike  in  that." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you'd  rather  do  it  if  it  wasn't 
for  me?" 

"I've  got  to  take  everything  into  consideration. 
It's  no  use  for  me  to  make  bad  worse  by  refusing  a 
good  offer.  I  must  try  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
business  for  every  one's  sake.  I  don't  want  to  take 
Davenant's  money.  It's  about  as  pleasant  for  me 
as  swallowing  a  knife.  But  I'd  swallow  a  knife  if 
we  could  only  hush  the  thing  up  long  enough  for  you 
to  be  married — and  for  me  to  settle  some  other 
things.  I  shouldn't  care  what  happened  after  that. 
They  might  take  me  and  chuck  me  into  any  hole 
they  pleased," 

"But  I  couldn't  be  married  in  that  way,  papa 
dear.  I  couldn't  be  married  at  all  to — to  one  man — 
when  another  man  had  a  claim  on  me." 

"Had  a  claim  on  you?     How  do  you  mean?" 

"He'll  have  that— if  he  pays  for  everything — pays 
for  everything  for  years  and  years  back.  Don't 
you   see  ?" 

"A  claim  on  you  for  what,  pray?" 

"That's  what  I  don't  know.  But  whatever  it  is, 
I  shall  feel  that  I'm  in  his  debt." 


tltai.     I    call    that    morbid.     Ft 


/J 


"Nonsense, 
morbid," 

I   i3t  f*"*'  ^'","'""''.  '''*^  ^''^'^  ''^•■'^  ^"•'^'"R  for? 

open    tT.    ft  "^  ""'■  "^"•'^^  ^'"  'f  ^'f''  ""•■  ^y'-s 

open    to    the   consequences.     Ashley   would    alnimr 
certamly  throw  you  over  -  "  *^ 

;;No;  because  that  possibility  couldn't  arise" 
^^^  Ami,  you  II   have   to   be   prepared    for   th^  dis- 

pavinf 'l""',M '^  ""  '^  ''  ^''^«^-<'^-  -  "luch  as  - 
Paymg.     It  w,ll  be  paymg  for  what  we've  had     if 

we  sha'n';  b    f  ^T""^  '^"^  ^^'^^  ourselves; 

-  Wk      .    '■  ^""'""^  ''  "^  ""  «"ni^'  one  else  " 
^^  Why  do  you  say  we.?" 

"Well,  won't  it  be  we^*     F  ^h-.!!  k.,,  •    . 

alt-  my  sh:ti:  i  '^'-"^ '""  ""•"'•'•  ■■"' ' ""«'"  "■> 

i^  tha^we  should  K       '^"=""™-     ^y  whole  point 
mac  we  should  be  actinR  toRether." 

1  hey  can  t  put  you  in  SinRville." 

the  wails  I  ^rif'"''  '''""  r  ^'"^  ""'"K  ""t^iJ^' 
with7n  rJnt'f"  "'^"'  •"  *'  ">"•  P-P-.  if  you're 
-or  from  ,„  i  "^  '"  'V""''  -lyself  from  you 
didn't  in  wT  7*   L^""''-'    "-sponsible    for.     I 

"y  I Vhou7;"g:t'':"ii  -;  -  i'T"™- ' ''""''"'' 
shouldn't  youith:  t:tprt^ro;i:4ii'; 


■'•ii 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

every  day  we  suffered,  and  evcrv  night  we  slept 
through  or  wept  through,  and  every  hit  of  humiha- 
tion  and  dishonor,  was  so  much  contributed  to  the 
great  work  of — paying  up.  Isn't  that  the  way  you'd 
take  it?" 

"That's  all  very  hne  now,  dear,  when  you're — 
what  shall  I  say?— a  little  bit  cxaltrr;  but  how  do 
you  think  you'll  feel  when  they've — when  they've" 
— he  continued  to  speak  with  his  eyes  shut  con- 
vulsively— "when  they've  arrested  me  and  tried  me 
and  sentenced  me  and  locked  mc  up  for  ten  or 
fifteen  years?" 

"  I  shall  feel  as  if  the  bitterness  of  death  were  past. 
But  I  should  feci  worse  than  that — I  should  feel  as 
if  the  bitterness  of  both  death  and  hell  were  still 
to  come  if  we  didn't  make  an  effort  to  shoulder  our 
own  responsibilities." 

There  was  more  in  the  same  vein.  He  listened 
for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  with  his  eyes  closed. 
He  was  too  unutterably  tiretl  to  argue  or  to  contest 
her  point  of  view.  Beyond  sugj^esting  ihat  there 
were  sides  to  the  question  she  hadn't  >et  considered, 
he  felt  helpless.  He  was  restrained,  too,  from  setting; 
them  forth  by  a  certain  hesitation  in  demanding 
from  her  anything  she  did  not  concede  of  her  own 
accord.  That  she  would  ultimately  see  for  her- 
self he  had  little  doubt.  In  any  case  he  was  more 
or  less  indifferent  from  sheer  spiritual  exhaustion. 
He  had  ceased  to  direct,  or  try  to  direct,  his  own 
affairs  or  those  of  any  one  else.  In  his  present 
condition  he  could  only  lie  still  and  let  come  what 
might.     Fate  or  God  would  arrange   things   either 

144 


'%fe.: 


1'.  •"<"'?; 


in  the  way  of  ■■^^imim^,^r^^r^^'i^^^^~~^^ 
interference  on  his  part.  "unout 

So  as  he  lay  an<l  listened  to  his  dauRhter  he  uttered 
some  b,t  of  reason  or  some  feeble  pmtest  onlvnow 
and  then.     When,  occasionally,  he  Lite,   at  her   k 
was  to  see  her-somewhat  deliri„usly-,vhite   shm 
ethereal,  mexorabic,  like  the  law  of  right.     He  wTs 
fevensh;  h,s  head  throbbed;  whenever  he  opened  hi, 
cy^s  the  objects  in  the  room  seemed  to  whrri"  bou 
wh,  e  she  sat  tense,  low-voiced,  gentle    a  sDiri^of 
expiation.  b>^'itie,  a  spirit  ot 

neveToturred  -  h   "    ^""""-"'"™'  'his  "ne  had 
never  occurred  to  him;  and  yet,  now  that  he  saw  it 

fr^mT'1''  "  "'  '""  "••"  ^'^  "-'Rl"  have  expect  d 
from  the  almost  too  rigid  rectitude  and  decKv 

too  uncompromising  pride  that  made  up  her  cCac 
rf  a  gZ^  t  "=^''  r  ""'  -''-"ed.  mos    v^ordiy 

is^«i:/n%^sTh:^LTa:-^Se;:;:^b7Csira^ 
in  Tmttrg^  lr:''ir^;^s;re'd''"i'^•  "V""""'' 

because  for  ?he  res!  yh,^".'°rhe  tu™t  01""'^ 
■n  a  humiliating  moral  situa    ,n.     flT:  u  dnthte 

wor^tr°wr;,i::i^"  '™^^"''"«  f-  --^  -  much 

This  was  so;«tg:kTd„ri.'''i-.roTtt 

'45 


' 


il 

li 


'  1 


r 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

measure  in  which  he  had  agreed  with  her  heroic 
views  of  "paying,"  he  returned  to  that  thought 
after  she  had  kissed  him  and  gone  away. 

During  the  conversation  with  him  Olivia  had  so 
completely  forgotten  Davenant  that  when  she  de- 
scended to  the  oval  sitting-room  she  was  scarcely  sur- 
prised to  find  that  he  had  left  and  that  Drusilla 
Fane  was  waiting  in  his  place. 

"You  see,  Olivia,"  Mrs.  Fane  reasoned,  in  her 
sympathetic,  practical  way,  "that  if  you're  not  going 
to  have  your  wedding  on  the  28th,  you've  got 
to  do  something  about  it  now." 

"What  would  you  do?" 

Olivia  brought  her  mind  back  with  some  efFort 
from  the  consideration  of  the  greater  issues  to  fix 
it  on  the  smaller  ones.  In  its  way  Drusilla's  inter- 
ference was  a  welcome  diversion,  since  the  point  she 
raised  was  important  enough  to  distract  Olivia's 
attention  from  decisions  too  poignant  to  dwell  on 
long.^ 

"I've  thought  that  over,"  Drusilla  explained — 
"mother  and  I  together.  If  we  were  you  we'd 
simply  scribble  a  few  lines  on  your  card  and  send  it 
round  by  post." 

"Yes?    And  what  would  you  scribble?" 

"We'd  say — ^you  see,  it  wouldn't  commit  you  to 
anything  too  pointed — we'd  say,  simply,  'Miss 
Guion's  marriage  to  Colonel  Ashley  will  not  take 
place  on  October  28th.'  There  you'd  have  nothing 
but  the  statement,  and  they  could  make  of  it  what 
they  liked." 

"Which  would  be  a  good  deal,  wouldn't  it?" 

146 


"So  that  the  thing  to  do  is  to  keen  fh««,  r 

for  r.ti„f -t  -- ^•'-X  -„^x/3 

while.  Vh  „^„Z  hrded'thr'V'"  '^  ">'"" 
feel  .ore  free  to'-„  g'r.'ottrd^lThl^.LC  " 

friendly  offer  to  heTo  in  ,1,  "''•'''''  ?°'  °™»'"=''» 
which  it  woul7be  „^ecLt/to''"^°'  "'^  "'•''''  °f 
hundred.     There  be"  ngTo  V-e  to  l^"'  T'  '™ 

-.wor..rr„rjn^-s^;'Lt^- 
not^E^ro'^oTt&rh-"?*"^'  ^^^''-  -■» 

somethi:°tet'tneir  ^r""^  ^1"  «^«  ^-''ed 
n^onotony'  o^^J^^'^^  "-7.  f-m  the 

.tuZrheTanttVthir-Y"-^^^^^^^ 
: Drusillaf  do  ^^'re^LtbT  Icl  Btr/on  .■ 

might  not  have  perceived  it  so  quicth- 

^47 


wB 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

even  then  had  it  not  been  for  the  second  of  hesitation 
before  Drusilla  answered  and  the  quaver  in  her 
voice  when  she  did. 

"Y-es." 

The  amount  of  information  contained  in  the  em- 
barrassment with  which  this  monosyllable  was  ut- 
tered caused  Olivia  to  feel  faint.  It  implied  that 
Drusilla  had  been  better  posted  than  herself;  and 
if  Drusilla,  why  not  others.' 

"Do  you  know  what  makes  me  think  of  him?" 

Again  there  was  a  second  of  hesitation.  With- 
out relaxing  the  speed  with  which  she  went  on  scrib- 
bling the  same  oft-repeated  sentence,  Olivia  knew 
that  her  companion  stayed  her  pen  and  half  turned 
round. 

"I  can  guess." 

Olivia  kept  on  writing.  "How  long  have  you 
known?" 

Drusilla  threw  back  the  answer  while  blotting 
with  unnecessary  force  the  card  she  had  just  written: 
"A  couple  of  days." 

"Has  it  got  about — generally?" 

"Generally  might  be  too  much  to  say.  Some 
people  have  got  wind  of  it;  and,  of  course,  a  thing 
of  'that  kind  spreads." 

"Of  course." 

After  all,  she  reflected,  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well 
that  the  story  should  have  come  out.  It  was  no 
more  possible  to  keep  it  quiet  than  to  calm  an  earth- 
quake. She  had  said  just  now  to  her  father  that  she 
would  regard  publicity  less  as  disgrace  than  as  part 
of  the  process  of  paying  up.     Very  well!    If  thev 

148 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

were  a  mark  for  idle  tongues,  then  so  much  the 
better,  smce  m  that  way  they  were  already  con- 
tnbutmg  some   few  pence   toward  quenching   the 

afteJf.T''^  ^""l  '^''"'  ^■^°"'  '''"  ^"-"^^"^  explained, 
after  a  silence  of  some  mmutes,  "if  I  didn't  think  tha 

hdrCouTHe^n;^^  ^°  '^  -^^^-^  — 

Ohvia  wrote  energetically.     "What's  he  doing?" 

h.v.  '  A  r'?"^  °^  '•''"«  '"""  ^°-  I'hey  seem  to 
have  wonderful  ways  of  raising  money." 

How  do  you  know  he's  trying  it?" 

rJr!  "^""'u  ^-T  ^°.''  ^^'■'^•"'  I'^^  only  an  idea.     I 
rather  gather  ,t  by  the  queer  way  he  comes  and  goes 
The  mmute  a  thmg  is  in  Peter's  hands-" 

Have  you  such  a  lot  of  confidence  in  him.?" 

l^or  this  sort  of  thing-yes.     He's  terribly  able 

so  they  say,  financially.     For  the  matter  of  that' 

you  can  see  it  by  the  way  he's  made  all  that  money 

Bought  mmes,  or  somethmg,  and  sold  them  again' 

rnTtLrnd^''""''"^'  ^"'  -''  '-  '-  ^^— ^^' 

mar?;'hi!nF"  ""  "°"  ''^^  '^  °"^^  ^^^^^  -^  to 
Drusilla  wheeled  round  in  her  chair  and  stared 
open-mouthed,  at  her  friend's  back.  ' 

No: 

;;0h,  it  was  years  ago.     I  dare  say  he's  forgotten 


It 


"I'll  bet  you  ten  to  one  he  hasn't  " 
^    Uhvia    took    another    card    and    wrote    rapidlv 
Do  you  suppose,"  she  said,  trying  to  speak  casually," 

149 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"that  his  wanting  to  help  papa  out  has  anything  to 
do  with  that?" 

"I  shouldn't  wonder.  I  shouldn't  wonder  at 
all." 

"What  fOM/i  it  have?" 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me!  How  should  I  know?  Men 
are  so  queer.  He's  getting  some  sort  of  satisfaction 
out  of  it,  you  may  depend." 

Drusilla  answered  as  she  would  have  Hked  to  be 
answered  were  she  in  a  similar  position.  That  an 
old  admirer  should  come  to  her  aid  like  a  god  from 
the  machine  would  1  ave  struck  her  as  the  most 
touching  thl.^g  in  the  world.  As  she  wheeled  round 
again  to  her  task  it  was  not  without  a  pang  of  wholly 
impersonal  envy  at  so  beautiful  a  tribute.  She  had 
written  two  or  three  cards  before  she  let  fall  the 
remaik: 

"And  now  poor,  dear  oldmother  is  manceuvering 
to  have  me  marry  him." 

The  idea  was  not  new  to  Olivia,  so  she  said, 
simply,  "And  are  you  going  to?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know."  Drusilla  sighed  wearily, 
then  added:  "I  iha'n't  if  I  can  help  it." 

"Does  that  mean  that  you'll  take  him  if  you  can't 
do  better?" 

"It  means  that  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  at  all. 
I'm  rather  s,ck  of  everything— and  so  I  might  do 
anythmg.  I  don't  want  to  come  back  to  live  in 
America,  and  yet  I  feel  an  alien  over  there,  now  that 
I  haven't  Gerald  to  give  me  a  raison  d'etre.  They're 
awfully  nice  to  me— at  Southsea— at  Silchester— 
everywhere— and  yet  they  really  don't  want  me.     I 


r  fr\ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

can  see  that  as  plainly  as  I  can  see  your  name  on  this 
card.     But  I  can  t  keep  away  from  them.     I've  no 
pnde.     At   least,   I've  got   the   pride,    but   there's 
something  m  me  stronger  than  pride  that  makes  me 
a  kmd  of  craven      I  m  ike  a  dog  that  doesn't  mind 
bemg  kicked  so  long  as  he  can  hang  about  under  the 
dmmg-room   table   to  sniff  up  crumbs.     With  mv 
temperament  it's  perfectly  humiliating,  but  I  can't 
help  It.     I  ve  got  the  taste  for  that  English  life  as  a 
Frenchman  gets  a  taste  for  absinthe-knows  that  it 
11  be  the  rum  of  him,  and  yet  goes  on  drinking." 

there  .?'"^''°'^  ^""^  '^  "''^  '"  ^''''^  ^'^^  ^">^  °"^  ^^^^ 

There  was  no  curiosity  in  this  question.     Olivia 

th^^  n'~n  '  '°"^^  T'^'^y  ^^"  ^^y-    She  noticed 

ha?f  turned  "'T't  ^T^^  ^^^•"  ^"^  «"«  "^^re 
hall  turned  round,  though  it  was  not  till  long  after- 
ward that  she  attached  significance  to  the  fact. 

Who  on  earth  should  I  be  in  love  with?     What 
put  that  into  your  head.?"  " 

n.n.?'  V"^""'  *'"°'^-  ^"■^"S"'"  ^^'"g^  have  hap. 
pened.     You  see  a  great  many  men—" 

So  they  went  skimming  over  the  surface  of  con- 
hdence,  knowing  that  beneath  what  they  said  there 

Tb  ^Xll ''''""  ^'^'^'  '^''''  '^^y  ^^-d  not  dis! 
turb.     All  the  same,  ,t  was  some  relief  to  both  when 

lunchrn    '""'  '"  '^"  ^°''  '"  ''"'"'"«"   '^'"^  ^« 


IX 


TURING    the    next    day    and    the    next 
Guion    continued    ill,    so    ill    that    his 
daughter  had  all  she  could  attend  to  in 
the   small    tasks   of  nursing.     The   lull 
in  events,  however,  gave  her  the  more 
time  for  thinking,  and  in  her  thoughts 
two  things  struck  her  as  specially  strange.     Of  these, 
the  first  and  more  remarkable  was  the  degree  to 
which  she  identified  herself  with  her  father's  wrong- 
doing.    The  knowledge  that  she  had  for  so  many 
years  been  profiting  by  his  misdeeds  produced  in 
her  a  curious  sense  of  having  shared  them.     Though 
she  took  pains  to  remind  herself  that  she  was  morally 
guiltless,  there  was  something  within  her— an  imag- 
inative quality  perhaps— that  rejected  the  acquittal. 
Pity,  too,  counted  in  her  mental  condition,  as  did 
also  that  yearning  instinct  called  maternal,  which 
keeps  women  faithful  to  the  weak  and  the  fallen 
among  those  they  love.     To  have  washed  her  own 
hands  and  said,  "See  here!     I  am  innocent!"  would 
have  seemed  to  her  much  like  desertion  of  a  broken 
old  man  who  had  no  one  but  her  to  stand  by  him. 
Even  while  she  made  attempts  to  reason  herself  out 
of  it,  the  promptings  to  the  vicarious  acceptance  of 
guilt,  more  or  less  native  to  the  exceptionally  strong 

152 


THE    STREET    C AU.En_^T^^j^j^ 
and  loyal,  was  so  potent  in  her  that  she  found  hcr- 

h  "J";^'  'Vr^''^"^^  '^"°'  •"  ^*''-^«'  "Inasmuch 
as  he  d.d  ,t,      d.d  .t,  too."     It  was  not  a  purposely 

adopted  stand  on  her  part;  it  was  not  even  clear  to 
her  why  she  was  impelled  to  take  it;  she  took  it 
only  because  obeymg  the  dictates  of  her  nature,  she 
could  do  nothmg  else. 

Nevertheless     it   occasioned    her   some    surprise 
whenever  she  had  time  to  think  of  it,  to  note    he' 
speed  with  wh.ch  she  had  adapted  herself  to  the  facts 
Once  revealed,  she  seemed   to  have  always  known 
hem-to  have  shared  that  first  embarrassment  Z 
ready  money  that  had  induced  her  father  to  borrow 
from  funds  so  temptingly  under  his  control,  and  to 
have  gone  on  w.th  him,  step  by  step,  through  the 
subsequentyearsofstruggle  and  disaster.    They  were 
years  over  wh.ch  the  sun  was  already  darkened  and 
the  moon  turned  mto  blood,  so  that,  looking  back 
on    them,  .t  was    almost   impossible    to   recapture 
the  memory  of  the  light-heartedness  with  whi  h  Z 

thl  r  tTu^^  '^''"-  ^'  ^^^  ■"^••^^•^^'-  to  her  now 
that  they  had  been  years  of  traveling  and  visiting  and 
dancmg  and  hunting  and  motoring  and  yachtin^of 
fojlowmg  fashion  and  seeking  pleasure  in  wh  "clef 

self,  some  pale,  secondary,  astral  self,  must  have 
crossed  and  recrossed  tl..  Atlantic  and  been  a  guest 
in  great  houses  and  become  a  favorite-  in  London 
Pans,  Biarntz  Florida.  Scotland,  Rome!  ScC 
other  self  must  have  been  sought  out  for  her  soci  ^y 
admired  for  her  style,  and  privileged  to  refuse- 
eligible  suitors!     Some  other  self  must  have  met 

iS3 


i 


i 
It 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Rupert  Ashley  in  the  little  house  at  Southsea  and 
promised  to  become  his  wife!  From  the  standpoint 
of  the  present  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  an  unreal  life 
had  ended  in  an  unreal  romance  that  was  bringing 
to  her,  within  a  day  or  two,  an  unreal  hero.  She 
was  forced  again  face  to  face  with  that  fact  that 
the  man  who  was  coming  to  marry  her  was,  for  all 
practical  knowledge  that  she  had  of  him,  a  stranger. 
In  proportion  as  calamity  encompassed  her  he  re- 
ceded, taking  his  place  once  more  in  that  dim  world 
she  should  never  have  frequented  and  in  which  she 
had  no  longer  lot  nor  part. 

She  should  never  have  frequented  it  for  the  simple 
reason  that  for  all  she  had  brought  to  it  or  got  from 
it  some  one  else  had  to  pay.  The  knowledge  in- 
duced a  sense  of  shame  which  no  consciousness  of 
committed  crime  could  have  exceeded.  She  would 
have  been  less  humiHated  had  she  plotted  and 
schemed  to  win  flattery  and  homage  for  herself 
than  she  was  in  discovering  that  people  had  been 
tricked  into  giving  them  spontaneously.  To  drop 
the  mask,  to  tear  asunder  the  robe  of  pretense,  to 
cry  the  truth  from  the  housetops,  and,  like  some 
Scriptural  woman  taken  in  adultery,  lie  down, 
groaning  and  stunned,  under  the  pelting  of  the 
stones  of  those  who  had  not  sinned,  became  to  her, 
as  the  hours  dragged  on,  an  atonement  more  and 
more  imperative. 

But  the  second  odd  fact  she  had  to  contemplate 
was  the  difficulty  of  getting  a  new  mode  of  life  into 
operation.  Notwithstanding  all  her  eagerness  to 
pay,   rhe  days  were  still  passing  in  gentle  routine 

154 


somewhat  quietly  because  of  her  father's  indisposi- 
tion,  but  with  the  usual  household  dignity      fhel 
was   a   clock-work   smoothness  about  hfe  at  Toll 
H.ll,  due  to  the  most  competent  service  secured  a^ 
he  greatest  expense      Old  servants,  and  plenty  of 
hem    kept  the  wheels  going  noiselessly  even  while 
they  followed  with  passionate  interest  the  drama 
bemg  played  m  the  other  part  of  the  house      To 
break  m  on  the  course  of  their  duties,  to  d  sturb 
them,  or  put  a  stop  to  them,  was  to  Ova  lik    an 

s  S'  ?h;°kn"""  t  'r  ^'^^^  -^"'-'  ^H^ 

sunrise,     bhe   knew  neither   how  to   set   abni.f  .i- 
nor  where  to  begin.     There  was  something  ^oign'an 
m  the  irony  of  these  unobtrusive  services  from  the 
minute  when  her  maid  woke  her  in   tk.  • 

till  she  helped  her  to  chante'htrd  "^s  tr™"™? 
and  yet  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  th  "S 
the    customary    daily    round.     When    it    became 

fo^thr  'L''"  ''''  "<""™  "'"  'he  p  parat  o™ 
for  the  weddmg   must   be  stopped  and  that  the 

that  the  food  they  brought  her  choked  her  and  the 
rnajd  s  touch  on  her  person  was  like  fire,  wh"le  she 

t  l^^h  d  ^^^^^^^.^^^''g^d  to  submit  to    hlse    ong 
estabhshed  attentions  ^ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

the  course  o^  legal  action.  Most  of  the  men  with 
whom  it  lay  to  set  the  law  in  moti'^n,  notably  Dixon, 
the  District-Attorney,  were  old  friends  of  his,  who 
would  hesitate  to  drag  him  from  a  sick-room  to 
face  indictment.  He  had  had  long  interviews  with 
Dixon  about  tlie  case  already,  and  knew  how  re- 
luctant that  official  was  to  move  in  the  matter,  any- 
how; but  as  soon  as  he,  Guion,  was  out  and  about 
again,  all  kindly  scruples  would  have  to  yield. 
"You'll  find,"  he  explained  to  her,  "that  the  ques- 
tion as  to  breaking  camp  will  settle  itself  then. 
And  besides,"  he  added,  "it  '11  be  better  to  wait  till 
Ashley  comes  and  you  know  what  he's  likelv  to  do 
for  you." 

With   the  last  consideration   she  could   not  but 

agree,  though  she  shrank  from  his  way  of  putting  it. 

It  was  some  satisfaction  at  least  to  know  that,  since 

the  two  hundred  cards  she  had  sent  out  had  reached 

their  recipients,  the  process  of  public  penance  must 

in  some  measure  have  been  started.     She  had  seen 

no  one  who  could  tell  her  what  the  effect  had  been; 

her  bridesmaids  evidently  knew  enough  to  consider 

silence    the    better    part    of   sympathy;    not    even 

Drusilla  Fane  had  looked  in  or  called  her  on  the 

telephone  during  the  last  day  or  two;  but  she  could 

imagine  pretty  well  the  course  that  comment  and 

speculation    must    be    taking    through    the    town. 

There  would  be  plenty  of  blame,  some  jubilation, 

and,   she  felt   sure,   not   a   little   sympathy  withal. 

\  here  was  among  her  acquaintance  a  local  American 

pride  that  had  always  been  jealous  of  her  European 

preferences  and  which  would  take  the  opportunity 

156 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRJIGRT 

would  be  kLdi'/^Tr"^''  ^"^  •"  «^"-^'  opinion 
r  f  I.  1  ^  ^'  ^^'''^  ""^""^  ^"  afternoon  when 
she  felt  the  des.re  to  go  forth  to  face  it,  to  taJher 
first  impressions  of  the  world  in  her  new  rtlanon 
sh.p  toward  it  She  had  not  been  beyond  hdr 
own  gate  sin.    the  altered  conditions  had  begun  to 

^nTA  u  ^^u  ^^^  "'^^  °^  '^'  ^^^^h  air;  she  had  need 
to  find  her  beanngs;  she  had  need  of  a  few  minutes' 
intercourse  with  some  one  besides  her  farh^^ 

cel'tlv'T''  'V^'r'^'  'y  ^-^nt ^in! 
land  rhl^^  ^'"  't  ^^''  ^"P^^^  Ashley  would 
land  that  night  or  the  next  morning.  In  fortv-eiZ 
hours  he  would  probably  be  in  Boston  it  was 
prudent  she  reflected,  to  be  as  well  poised  and  as 
su^^of  herself  as  possible  before  his  Trdlal  Tn'th: 

h.,"r/^'^!.'  ""^^  '^'^^'^y  ^^''^'-     He  could  leave 

c^ulSli^'"^'  r'Pf^-^  •"  ^'^  ^'«'-^  dressing-gown 
luxunv!?  °"   r^'  chaise-longue,  surrounded  1,yThe' 
luxurious  comforts  that  were  a  matter  of  couL  to 

Jm  smHetharh''  '^'"  ^""^  ^'  observedTi^h  a 
flmos    h  ar   so  h"'  ''T  n^  ^'^  "  P'^>^-     "^  <^o"'d 

Tscrape.  "'  "°"''  ''  '  '"^^^  -'   -^  «f 

She  had  come,  dressed  for  the  street  rn  ,.lf  i,- 

had?'  "'"'V"l.''°™  '"  "'^  Ten^.  'tr.  e  wh™ 

IS7 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  approval  that  gradually 
merged  into  a  sense  of  comfort.  She  had  chosen 
the  simplest  dress  and  hat  in  her  wardrobe,  as 
significnt  of  a  chastened  soul;  but  simplicity  more 
than  anything  else  emphasized  her  distinction. 
"She'll  be  a''  right,"  he  said,  consolingly,  to  him- 
self. "Whatever  happens  she'a  the  kind  to  come 
out  on  top.  Rupert  Ashley  would  be  a  fool  to  throw 
over  a  superb,  high-spinred  creature  like  that. 
He'll  not  do  it.     Of  that  I  feel  sure." 

The  conviction  helped  him  to  settle  more  luxuri- 
ously into  the  depths  of  his  couch  and  to  relish  the 
flavor  of  his  cigar.  He  was  quite  sincere  in  the 
feeling  that  if  she  were  but  safe  he  should  be  more 
or  less  indifferent  to  the  deluge  overwhelming  him- 
self. 

"Papa,"  she  ventured  at  last,  watching  carefully 
the  action  of  the  little  silver  button-hook,  as  she 
buttoned  her  gloves,  "if  that  Mr.  Davenant  came 
while  I'm  gone,  you  wouldn't  change  your  mind, 
would   you?" 

"I  don't  think  he's  in  the  least  likely  to  turn 
up." 

"Butif  he  did.?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  you'll  be  back  before  long. 
We  couldn't  settle  anything  without  talking  it  over, 
in  any  case." 

Forced  to  be  content  with  that,  she  kissed  him 
and  turned  away. 

She  found  a  comfort  in  getting  into  the  open  air, 
into  the  friendly  streets,  under  the  shade  of  the 
familiar  trees,  that  surprised  her.     The  absence  of 

158 


\\    )r!(l 


I)-,    f 


hi. 


iv 


smfck'teth^'fi  "^  ''"•  ^^^"«^  ^---n   town 

be  the  firs^tng  t"n^.vrf  community  would 
invitation  to  the'sp! .":r  dax  '"n'th  "l  '"f'^' 

cleaning  she  saw  a  ,     „-  ,.     ^^  Th  ^'"T  '-"^ 

"^'.'^'1  that,  perfection 

^   1  erniitted  to  rub 

.  -vnich  in  Colonial 

■<y's   "Mansion," 

nquin  Avenue  by 

Me  sonorous,   but 

of  a  New  England 

it  with  the  rc|;u-. 

wili;    Its "h^user serein  'rT'  "'."  ''  "^^^g'^^  at  its 

the  phases  of  "h'e  n  t  onaTtas  n^  '".""^"^^  ^" 
manifested     throughout     the  ^''chitecture  as 

from    the    wooden    Pr    I,  "'"^'f^^nth     century, 

fa9ade  of  the  ea  ly  decLesr^^  k""'  ^  ^'"^-^ 
tions,  painted  generallv  in  d-,r^  A  ^"f""  """^P"^'" 
-ny  'gables  '  nd"f  ^;\tts    o?"sl  "'"""'  "'^!' 

which  marked  that  .ra'scCln  ""^    '■°"*' 

tions  had  been  thmu^n  c       '"."^"«t  cases  addi- 

trailing  at  the  back  or  ""'  ^''"'  ''""'  ^«  ^•"^^'  ^lls 
sides,  ^that  were  no't  Zn^""'''''?  ^"'^'"^  ^^  ^he 
Had  been  I.ttlHnX  rsrer^t^,  7^  ''''' 

remember  had  X^eth  """P^''''  '  ^°"«-  ^^e  could 

had  replaced  it  thaTi    f     t'^P'"'"^'^'  ^  "^^  «"- 
P  aced  It  that  before  long  might  be  replaced 

159 


■■•••{,  oin;   saw 

being  not  of  tH 
along  without  > 
days   had  lee    * 
had  long  ago 
civic  authorii. 
It  still  retained  tli-:    h 
village  street.     Eln, 
'arity  of  a  Gothic  vat. 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

by  a  newer  still.  To  Olivia  the  consoling  thought 
was  precisely  in  this  state  of  transition,  to  which 
rapid  vicissitude,  for  better  or  for  worse,  was  some- 
thing like  a  law.  It  made  the  downfall  of  her  own 
family  less  exceptional,  less  bitter,  when  viewed 
as  part  of  a  huge  impermanency,  shifting  from  phase 
to  phase,  with  no  rule  to  govern  it  but  the  necessities 
of  its  own   development. 

Until  this  minute  it  was  the  very  element  in 
American  life  she  had  found  most  distasteful.  Her 
inclinations,  carefully  fostered  by  her  parents,  had 
always  been  for  the  solid,  the  well-ordered,  the 
assured,  evolved  from  precedent  to  precedent  till 
its  conventions  were  fixed  and  its  doings  regulated 
as  by  a  code  of  etiquette.  Now,  all  of  a  sudden, 
she  perceived  that  life  in  shirt-sleeves  possessed  cer- 
tain advantages  over  a  well-bred  existence  in  full 
dress.  It  allowed  the  strictly  human  qualities  an 
easier  sort  of  play.  Where  there  was  no  pretense 
at  turning  to  the  world  a  smooth,  impeccable  social 
front,  toil  and  suffering,  misfortune  and  disgrace, 
became  things  to  be  less  ashamed  of.  Practically 
every  one  in  these  unpretentious,  tree-shaded  houses 
knew  what  it  was  to  struggle  upward,  with  many 
a  slip  backward  in  the  process  and  sometimes  a 
crashing  fall  from  the  top.  These  accidents  were 
understood.  The  result  was  the  creatior  of  a  living 
atmosphere,  not  perhaps  highly  civil. ..ed,  but  highly 
sympathetic,  charged  with  the  comprehension  of 
human  frailty,  into  which  one  could  carry  one's 
dishonor,  not  wholly  with  equanimity,  but  at  least 
with   the    knowledge   that   such    burdens   were   not 

i6o 


b  rsi^?2J:*^V5;^{f  •'?:,,rv:;5?s^ 


LJiCKSHSKo 


before  whl" 'shTru  d  I'Tve'T'  '""'"'"' 

a  fellow-feeling  with  her  ca"e.  "'"'"'  """"eh 

1  his  consciousness  helped  her  fn  K«  fi  . 

B:::de7r:L'^s.t"i-H'^^"f^-^^ 

an  unusually  tall  Ce  "^  »  '"''  ^""  ""'>'  "» 

gray  felt  hat.     He  was'  aunL""""""^  «7^  ^""  ="<•  => 
toward  her  stonn^nrn  """'"'"8  '"  a  leisurely  way 

beautiful  ^Ji^TnTnl    h^s^  t'of^"  ''"'"'■  ^T 
weeds,  or  a  group  of  h.K;  ^[.water-rats  in  the 

or  a  ha,f.na\:7u°nder;rrar  uLT  f  '''''^' 
serpentme  reaches  of  the  river  ir  a  ?„l.  °"^  "" 
cleavmg  the  waters  with  the  predsion  of  ^^'  "^'"^ 
'o  a  long,  rhythmic  swing  of  cLht  s^m  h  J""  "T' 
ow,  b„ef  grunt  of  command^'"it?^°'"'^="^- 
hght  strikine  silver,/  »J  7-  .     "'^"  <Jctober 

Stadium  and  bSef '";^  ?■■<""  t'  "alls  of  the 

of  the  State  House  brouXnT  ,''"=  '"-"^  '•°">-- 
the  rim  of  autumnal  h^fu  'u'  ''""  "f  "■''^  f™"- 
It  touched  up  wTh  sof  d„  '  '''"'""  ''O"^""- 
shades  of  green  and  n.     f  °™:8^=>'.  ■"  which  were 

ran,shackle'w™d;n  /ah  i;''  ,''"  T"  ^'  ""P-"''"!, 


rr.^:^S8?s??iiE5?' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

unkempt  marshes,  stretching  away  into  shimmering 
distances,  where  factory  windows  blazed  as  if  from 
inner  conflagration  and  steam  and  smoke  became 
roseate  or  iridescent. 

The  tall  stranger,  so  much  better  dressed  than  the 
men  who  usually  strolled  on  the  embankment  at 
this  hour  of  a  week-day  afternoon,  fixed  her  atten- 
tion to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  her  forget  that  she 
herself  was  probably  a  subject  of  curiosity  and 
speculation  among  the  passers-by.  It  was  with  a 
little  disappo.ntment  that  as  she  came  nearer  she  said 
to  herself,  "  It's  only— that  man."  Common  fairness, 
however,  obliged  her  ro  add  that  he  seemtd  "more 
like  a  gentleman"  than  she  had  supposed.  That  he 
was  good-looking,  in  a  big,  blond,  Scotch  or  Scan- 
dinavian way,  she  had  acknowledged  from  the  first. 
On  recognizing  Davenant  ner  impulse  was  to  pass 
him  with  the  slightest  recognition,  but  on  second 
thoughts  it  seemed  best  to  her  to  end  the  affair 
impending  between  them  once  for  all. 

"I'm  sorry  you  didn't  wait  for  me  to  come  down- 
stairs the  other  day,"  she  said,  after  they  had  ex- 
changed greetings,  "because  I  could  have  told  you 
that  my  father  agreed  with  me — that  it  wouldn't 
be  possible  for  us  to  accept  your  kind  help." 

"I  hope  he's  better,"  was  Davenant's  only 
answer. 

"Much  better,  thank  you.  When  he's  able  to 
see  you  I  know  he  will  want  to  express  his  gratitude 
more  fully  than  I  can." 

"I  hoped  he'd  be  able  to  see  me  to-day.  I  was 
on  my  way  to  Tory  Hill." 

162 


'-"  —V  ■>«=•-- 


IM^STMIL__CJLLED_STRAIGH  T 

She  was  annoyed  both  by  his  persiste^i^^^TiiTb^ 
the  coolness  of  h,s  manner,  as,  leaning  on  his  stick 
he  stood  looking  down  at  her.  He  looked  down  in  a 
way  that  obliged  her  to  look  up.  She  had  not 
reahzed  t.ll  now  how  big  and  tall  he  was  She 
noticed,  too  the  squareness  of  his  jaw,  the  force  of 
his  chm,  and  the  compression  of  his  traight  th.n 
I.ps  beneath   the  long  curve  of  his  mustache        " 

that  h,s  fa.r  skm  was  subject  to  little  flushes  of  em- 
barrassment  or  shyness,  like  a  girl's.     As  she  wasTn 
a  mood  to  cnncze,  she  called  this  absurd  and  sa 
of  h,s  blue  eyes,  restmg  on  her  with  a  pensive  direct 
ness,  as  though  he  were  studying  her  from  n   Ion 
way  off  that  they  were  hard.     Deep-set  andTavenef 
under  heavy,  overhanging  brows,  they  moJe  than 
any  other  feature  imparted  to  his  face  the  frowning 
and  farouche  effect  by  which  she  judged  him      H.H 
It  not  been  for  that,  her  hostility  to  evernhin.  hf 
sa.d  and  did  might  not  have  beenVp  oi^'^t      f h, 
he  was  working  to  get  her  into  his  power  became 
more  than  ever  a  conviction  the  minute  she  looked 
mto  what  she  called  that  lowering  gaze 

AJI  the  same,  the  moment  was  one  for  diplomatic 
action  rather  than  for  force.  She  allowed  a  I  a  f  Tm  !^ 
to  come  to  her  lips,  and  her  voice  to  take  a    one  in 

wHe^^XX^-S--l^:,i"^Portant 

163 


I, 


vf^^ 


■r* 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"There's  a  good  deal  to  be  done  if  we  choose  to 
do  it;  but  \ye  must  choose  at  once.  The  Benn 
crowd  is  getting  restive." 

"That  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  us.  My 
father  has  decided  to  take  the  consequences  of  his 
acts." 

"You  say  that  so  serenely  that  I  guess  you  don't 
understand  yet  just  what  they'd  be." 

"I  do— I  do,  perfectly.  My  father  and  I  have 
talked  it  all  over.  We  know  it  will  be  terrible;  and 
yet  it  would  be  more  terrible  still  to  let  some  one 
else  pay  our  debts.  I  dare  say  you  think  me  mon- 
strous,  but — " 

"I  think  you  mistaken.  I  don't  want  to  say  more 
than  that.  If  I  find  Mr.  Guion  of  the  same 
opinion — " 

"I  see.     You  don't  consider  my  word  sufficient." 

"Your  word  is  all  right.  Miss  Guion,"  he  tried  to 
laugh.  "What  you  lack  is  authority.  My  dealings 
are  with  your  father.  I  can't  settle  anything  with— 
a  substitute." 

She  colored  swiftly.  "I  don't  presume  to  settle 
anything.  I  only  thought  I  might  give  you  some 
necessary  information.  I  hoped,  too,  to  save  you  a 
little  trouble  in  sparing  you  the  walk  to  Tory  Hill." 

He  looked  away  from  her,  his  eyes  wandering 
up  the  reach  of  the  river,  over  which  the  long,  thin, 
many-oared  college  craft  shot  like  insects  across 
a  pool. 

"Why  should  you  be  so  bent  on  seeing  your 
father  follow  Jack  Berrington,  when  it  could  be 
avoided?" 

164 


THE    STREET    C J r r^Pn_^Tpjjj^ 

"Why  should  you  care?     What  difference  does  it 
make  to  you?    If  you'd  only  explain  thatl" 

It  explains  itself.     If  I  saw  a  woman  leap  into 
the  nver  there  I  shou  d  pull  her  out.     The  more 

tt  Tsllt  h^r.' ""'  '"""^''  ^^^  "^°-  '  ^^-l" 

"But,  you  see,  I'm  not  leaping  into  a  river     On 

the  contrary,  I'm  getting  out  of  one.     It  leems  to 

me  that  you'd  be  only  forcing  me  back  and  mTkin° 

my  last  state  worse  than  the  first  "  ^ 

It  took  h.m  a  minute  to  grasp  the  force  of  this 

That  would  depend,  of  course,  on  the  do  nt  of 

rvTnoth^r r  1/"^' '''  something  witTwVh 
1  ve  nothmg  to  do.  It  concerns  you,  and  it  concerns 
Mr.  Gu.on,  but  ,t  doesn't  concern  me.  For  rSe  tihe 
whole  thmg  ,s  very  simple.  I've  offered  triend 
^rtolZ:  '  i7t'%--^r-     It's  for  him  to  take 

and  if'reloesn't^yut^^^^^^  '  ^'^^'"'^  ''  *"^^^^ 
You'd  let  him  have  it,  just  the  same?" 
wt  course.     Why  not?" 

fee'ir    '""'  "^  =■"  ''"^  '^'"^  -^  to  what  I  should 

If  lUr    r,.'        i     I  ,P^^^  that  It  isn  t  my  affa  r 
wishe s-w^r  .1    "'■*  ""'I'  "^y  '•'='"  -g^-in"  your 

She  was  some  minutes  silent,  her  eves  ran.,;n„ 
over  the  nver  and  the  marshes,  like  hifown^"^ 
.hinkh"J^d"trf,!r-''->"^hesaidatlast,"I 

■65 


'&gft 


ii: 


5  ! 


i: 
i. 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Then  so  much  the  better,  from  my  point  of 
view." 

"Precisely;  but  then  your  point  of  view  is  a  mys- 
tery. Not  that  it  makes  any  difference,"  she  has- 
tened to  add.  "If  my  father  accepts  your  loan, 
It  will  be  for  me  to  pay  it  back,  in  one  way  or  another 
— if  I  ever  can." 

"We  could  talk  of  that,"  he  smiled,  trying  to  be 
reassurmg,  "after  more  important  things  had  been 
settled." 

"There  wouldn't  be  anything  more  important— 
for  me." 

"Oh,  you  wouldn't  find  me  an  importunate  cred- 
itor." 

"That  wouldn't  help  matters— so  long  as  I  owed 
the  debt.  After  all,  we  belong  to  that  old-fashioned, 
rather  narrow-mmded  class  of  New  England  people 
to  whom  debt  of  any  kind  is  the  source  of  something 
like  anguish.  At  least,"  she  corrected  herself,  "/ 
belong  to  that  class." 

It  was  on  his  lips  to  remind  her  that  in  her  case 
there  could  be  no  present  release  from  indebtedness, 
there  could  only  be  a  change  of  creditors;  but  he  de- 
cided to  express  himself  more  gracefully. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  possible,"  he  asked,  "to  put  the 
boot  on  the  other  foot,  and  to  consider  me  as  the 
person  to  whom  the  favor  is  shown  in  being  allowed 
to  do  something  useful.''" 

She  lifted  her  chin  scornfully.  "That  would  be 
childish.     It  would  be  a  mere  quibbling  with  words  " 

'Uur  It  would  be  true.  It's  the  way  I  should 
take  It. 

166 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

lool'^s^  *""  Wh°"r'^  ^'"^  ^'^^  °"^  °^  ^^'  imperious 
In  the  monosyllable  there  was  a  demand  for  com- 
plete explanation,  but  he  met  it  with  one  of  his 
frank  smiles. 

''Couldn't  you  let  me  keep  that  as  my  secret?" 
So  that  you  would  be  acting  in  the  daylight  and 
we  m  the  dark. 

''You  might  be  in  the  dark,  and  still  have  nothing 
to  be  afraid  of.  ^ 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  iAot^W  be  afraid.  It  was 
in  the  dark  according  to  the  old  story,  that  the  ante- 
lope escaped  a  hon  by  faUing  into  a  hunter's  trap." 

Do  I  look  hke  that  kind  of  a  hunter?"  He  smiled 
again  at  the  absurdity  of  her  comparison. 

You  can't  tell  anything  from  looks-with  men. 
With  men  a  woman  has  only  one  principle  to  guide 
her—to  keep  on  the  safe  side." 

"I  hope  you  won't  think  me  uncivil,  Miss  Guion, 
It  1  pomt  out  that,  at  present,  you  haven't  got  a 
safe  side  to  keep  on.     That's  what  I  want  to  offer 

"I  might  ask  you  why  again,  only  that  we  should 
be  gomg  round  in  a  circle.  Since  you  don't  mean  to 
tell  me,  1  must  go  without  knowing;  but  I'm  sure  you 
can  understand  that  to  some  natures  the  lion  is  less 
to  be  feared  than  the  hunter." 

"lie  doesn't  feel  so."  He  nodded  his  head  in 
the  direction  of  Tory  Hill. 

;; He y^^/^  so.     He's  only  a  little-wavering." 

Guion   if    ^"' f  ^'f'^  ^  ''"'^  wavering,  too,  Miss 
Uuion,  if  you  d  only  own  up  to  it  " 

167 


ti 


■^^.: 


THE    STREET    CALLED    RTR^iryM-r 

He  watched  her  straighten  her  shght  figure  while 
her  dehcate  features  hardened  to  an  expression  of 
severity.  I  m  not  wavering  on  the  principle,  nor 
because  of  anything  I  should  have  to  face  myself. 
If  I  have  any  hesitation,  it's  only  because  of  what  it 
would  mean  for  papa." 

He  allowed  an  instant  to  pass  while  he  looked 
down  at  her  gravely.  "And  he's  not  the  only  one, 
you  know,  he  said,  with  all  the  significance  he 
could  put  into  his  tone. 

His  hint,  however,  was  thrown  away,  since  she 
was  intent  on  her  own  line  of  thought.  With  a 
slight  nod  of  the  head,  dignified  rather  than  dis- 
courteous  she  departed,  leaving  him,  to  the  great 

tal?  t      f  ^^'^'''-^y^  '--"i"g  on  his  stick^nd 
staring  after  her. 


M 


mmmm-'-^\m'^:?^m^m,s¥pm^ 


ti^s^KSisi^-?;  jgp^^'  :^-^ 


Pn*^.'"'"'^™"""^''  on  her  way  toward 
f  Rodney  Temple's  she  was  able^oTkl 

fort"  im-^TK  '^''  ^  '^''i'f  ■•«»" 

for  her  d.slike  of  Davenant  sprang  from 

h,s    .mmovabihty.     There    was  Cm" 

~.    u  ^"'^     '"S  ^''™f  him  like  a  eiant  roct      ^L 

Maying  tha  "rrt       aTul '^^'a.'L?/  t^'^' 
almost  startled      A  wnmon  k  I  ^°'^'^'  ^'^^  ^^s 

her;  she  knew  thar  buT.        '"^  ^°"^^V"^"  ^'^''^^^^ 

was  diffieultTo  tl'rp'r"  LTenrntrbearin"t  ^"  ':? 
her  manv  other  wav     T.-,       """^^^.^  Deanng  toward 

were  no  c^onSsir  ;<.  fea  elT Krel"-' 

n.ent  in  the  situar  on  U  ^.'"^  '•"'  P"^""^'  ''e- 
Itchallentd  her'tevr'"'''  '"fu  "'""  '"^  «h"- 
time  it  gfve  Daventn,  '  '"'' ''™ 

which  sh^e  was'^rfZ  ^iZ^:::-^:'- ''- 

169 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Rodney  Temple's  house,  which  was  really  within 
the  borders  of  Cambridge,  built  about  1840  by  some 
Harvard  professor  in  easy  circumstances,  had  original- 
ly resembled  a  square  brick  box.     In  the  course  of 
seventy  years  it  had  passed  through  the  hands  of 
several  owners,  each  of  whom  had  built  on  an  addi- 
tional box  according  to  his  needs.     To  the  north  a 
rectangular  wing  of  one  story  had  been  thrown  out 
as  a  drawing-room;  to  the  south  a  similar  projection 
formed  the  library  and  study.     A  smaller  square 
crowned   the  edifice   as   a   cupola,   while  cubes   of 
varying  dimensions  were  half  visible  at  the  back. 
Against  the  warm,  red  brick  a  Wren  portico  in  white- 
painted  wood,  together  with  the  white  facings  of 
the  windows,  produced  an  effect  of  vivid  spotless- 
ness,  tempered  by  the  variegated  foliage  of  climbing 
vines.     The  limitations  of  the  open  lawn  were  marked 
by  nothing  but  a  line  of  shrubs. 

Having  arrived  at  the  door,  it  was  a  relief  to 
Olivia,  rather  than  the  contrary,  to  learn  that  the 
ladies  were  not  at  home,  but  that  Mr.  Temple  him- 
self would  be  glad  to  see  her  if  she  would  come  in. 
He  had,  in  fact,  espied  her  approach  from  his  study 
window  and  had  come  out  into  the  hall  to  insist 
on  her  staying.  Within  a  minute  or  two  she  found 
herself  sitting  in  one  of  his  big,  shabby  arm-chairs 
saying  things  preliminary  to  confidence. 

It  was  a  large  room,  with  windows  on  three  sides, 
through  which  the  light  poured  in  to  find  itself 
refracted  by  a  hundred  lustrous  surfaces.  The 
first  impression  received  on  entering  what  Rodney 

Temple  called   his  work-room  was  that  of  color 

170 


::>!«> 


4 


Riaze,  or  decoration.     Of  Zierican    of  h' "   '^'P"' 

everything  we  call   art   T.r  f  beginning  of 

.In  a  handicraft  that  took  the  dust  of  th.       .u 

earl"  , Lefs  XoaTr'f  "'''""™.\  °"""8  ^Is 
■Sevres  interested  hfm  u"""!'  S^  ""«'"  ^"J 

I-ouvre!  ™  '"°"  ''"'"  '•«  Zw."ger  and  the 

strtl'^ZtldtE""'^  ""'■^"''^^  -«'  <«"^ 
from  some  lost t^r   ^"f"P™"  '^'"«.   bringing  oit 

which  the    '«„  of  th';""  "°^  '"c  ^"'''^  '■''  i" 
green  of  the  oasis  intensified  the  blue  of 


^^^^W.-  I'-'i.i-. 


Mictocorr  rcsowtion  tist  chart 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


■  50 
Hi 


■iUu 


1 4.0 


|Z5 

1 2.2 
2.0 

1.8 


^    /1PPLIED  IIVMGE 


1653  East   Main  Street 

Rochester,    Ne«   york         14609       JSA 

(716)    482  -  0500  -  Plione 

(716)   288  -  5989  -  Fox 


I 

ii 

it 


l;    *■ 


iU 


■il 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

the  desert  sky;  now  a  Persian  bowl  of  hues  that 
changed  with  a  turn  of  the  head  or  a  quiver  of  the 
lids;  now  a  Spanish  plaque  gleaming  with  metallic, 
opalescent  colors,  too  indefinable  to  name,  too 
fugitive  for  the  eye  to  transmit  to  memory.  Later 
he  picked  up  strange  examples  which,  like  meteoric 
stones  from  another  sphere,  had  found  their  myste- 
rious way  from  Chinese  palaces  to  his  grimy  haunts 
in  London,  Amsterdam,  or  Florence,  as  the  case  might 
be — a  blue-and-white  jar  of  Chia-ching,  or  a  Han 
ceremonial  vessel  in  emerald  green,  incrusted  from 
long  burial,  or  a  celadon  bowl  that  resembled  a  cup 
of  jade,  or  some  gorgeously  decorated  bit  of  Famille 
Verte.  He  knew  at  first  little  or  nothing  of  the 
nature  and  history  of  these  precious  "finds."  He 
saw  only  that  they  were  rare  and  lovely  and  that 
through  beauty  as  a  means  of  grace  he  entered  into 
communion  with  men  who  had  neither  epoch  nor 
ideals  in  common  with  himself. 

In  the  end  he  became  an  authority  on  ceramic  art 
by  the  simple  process  of  knowing  more  about  it 
than  anybody  else.  When  the  trustees  of  the 
Harvard  Gallery  of  Fine  Arts  awoke  to  that  fact, 
he  was  an  assistant  professor  of  Greek  in  the  Uni- 
versity. Under  his  care,  in  the  new  position  they 
offered  him,  a  collection  was  formed  of  great  celeb- 
rity and  value;  but  nothing  in  it  was  ever  quite 
so  dear  to  him  as  the  modest  treasures  he  had  ac- 
quired for  himself  in  the  days  of  his  young  en- 
thusiasm, when  his  fellow-countrymen  as  yet  cared 
for  none  of  these  things.  As  Olivia  sat  and  talked 
her  eye  traveled  absently  from  barbaric  Rouen  cornu- 

172 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAI-'HT 

copias  and  cockatoos  to  the  incrusted  snails  and 
serpents  of  Bernard  Palissy,  resting  long  on  a  flowered 
jardiniere  by  Veuve  Perrin,  of  Marseilles.  She 
had  little  technical  knowledge  of  the  objects  sur- 
rounding her,  but  she  submitted  to  the  strange  and 
soothing  charm  they  never  failed  to  work  on  her— 
the  charm  of  stillness,  of  peace,  as  of  things  which, 
made  for  common  homely  uses,  had  passed  beyond 
that  stage  into  an  existence  of  serenity  and  love- 
liness. 

"When  you  spoke  the  other  day,"  she  said,  after 
the  conversation  had  turned  directly  on  her  father's 
affairs — "when  you  spoke  the  other  day  about  a 
pillar  of  cloud,  I  suppose  you  meant  what  one  might 
call — an  overruling  sense  of  right." 

"That  might  do  as  one  definition." 

"  Because  in  that  case  you  may  Hke  to  know  that 
I  think  I've  seen  it." 

"I  thought  you  would  if  you  looked  for  it." 

"I  didn't  look  for  it.     It  was  just — there!" 

"It's  always  there;  only,  as  in  the  case  of  the  two 
disciples  on  the  Emmaus  road,  our  eyes  are  holden 
so  that  we  don't  see  it." 

"I  should  have  seen  it  easily  enough;  but  if  you 
hadn't  told  me,  I  shouldn't  have  known  what  it  was. 
I  didn't  s..ppose  that  we  got  that  kind  of  guidance 
nowadays." 

"The  light  is  always  shining  in  darkness,  dea~ie; 
only  the  darkness  comprehendeth  it  not.  That's 
all  there  is  to  it." 

He  sat  at  his  desk,  overlooking  the  embankment 
and  the  curves  of  the  Charles.     It  was  a  wide  desk 

173 


I: 


i! 


I 
IN 


tfe  I- 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

littered  with  papers,  but  with  space,  too,  for  some 
of  the  favorite  small  possessions  that  served  him  as 
paper-weights — a  Chinese  dragon  in  blue-green 
enamel,  a  quaintly  decorated  cow  in  polychrome 
Delft,  a  dancing  satyr  in  biscuit  de  Sevres.  On  the 
side  remote  from  where  he  sat  was  a  Hfe-size  bust 
of  Christ  in  fifteenth-century  Italian  terra-cotta — 
the  face  noble,  dignified,  strongly  sympathetic — 
once  painted,  but  now  worn  to  its  natural  tint, 
except  where  gleams  of  scarlet  or  azure  showed  in  the 
folds  of  the  vesture.  While  the  old  man  talked,  and 
chiefly  while  he  listened,  the  fingers  of  his  large, 
delicately  articulated  hand  stroked  mechanically  the 
surfaces  of  a  grotesque  Chinese  figure  carved  in 
apple-green  jade.  It  was  some  minutes  before  Olivia 
made  any  response  to  his  last  words. 

"Things  are  very  dark  to  me,"  she  confessed, 
"and  yet  this  light  seems  to  me  absolutely  positive. 
I've  had  to  make  a  decision  that  would  be  too  fright- 
ful if  something  didn't  seem  to  be  leading  me  into 
the  Street  called  Straight,  as  papa  says.  Did  you 
know  Mr.  Davenant  had  offered  to  pay  our  debts?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Of  course  I  couldn't  let  him  do  it." 

"Couldn't  you?" 

"Do  you  think  I  could?" 

"Not  if  you  think  difl^erently.  You're  the  only 
judge." 

"  But  if  I  don't,  you  know,  papa  will  have  to  go — " 
She  hesitated.  "You  know  what  would  happen, 
don't  you?" 

"I  suppose  I  do." 

174 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"And  I  could  prevent  it,  you  see,  if  I  let  papa  take 
this  money.  I  have  to  assume  the  responsibility 
of  Its  refusal  It  puts  me  in  a  position  that  I'm 
begmnmg  to  feel— well,  rather  terrible." 

"Does  it?" 

"You  don»t  seem  very  much  interested.  Cousin 
Rodney.     I  hoped  you'd  give  me  some  advice  " 

Uh,  I  never  give  advice.  Besides,  if  you've 
got  mto  the  Street  called  Straight,  I  don't  see  why 
you  need  advice  from  any  one  " 

wdi!  buV"^'  ^'''''  ''"'^  ^^'^'^^' ''  ^"  ^^^y 

'Then  you're  not  so  sure,  after  all." 
I  m  sure  in  a  way.     If  it  weren't  for  papa  I 
shouldn  t  have  any  doubt  whatever.     But  it  seems 

rri  ^7^^"'  '"  ^"^^  ^'"^  '"^°  -hat  I  don't  think 
he  d  do  of  h,s  own  accord."  She  went  on  to  ex- 
plain Davenant's  ofFer  in  detail.  "So  you  see,"  she 
concluded,  "that  papa's  state  of  mind  is  pe  uliar! 

^ot  \T."V'f  ""'  '^^'  '^'  ^'Sher  thing  would  be 
not  to  take  the  money;  and  yet  if  I  gave  him  the 
slightest  encouragement  he  would." 

''And  you're  not  going  to?" 

"How  could  I,  Cousin  Rodney?     How  could   I 

"He  could  probably  afford  it  " 
"Is   he   so   very   rich?"    There   was   a    hint   of 
curiosity  m  the  tone. 

Rodney  Temple  shrugged  his  shoulders.      "Oh 

but   Zn^t    ^'  ^?!;'^.  P'"^">^  -^^'  ^^-^»  him  out 
but,  then,  that  would  do  him  good." 

175 


\U\ 


i 


>5^,; 


I; 


1 


it: 


i 

i 


;  r 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Do  him  good — how?" 

"He's  spoiling  for  work,  that  fellow  is.  Since  he's 
had  all  that  money  he's  been  of  no  use  to  himself 
or  to  anybody  else.  He's  like  good  capital  tied  up 
in  a  stocking  instead  of  being  profitably  invested." 
"And  yet  we  ould  hardly  put  ourselves  in  a 
humihating  situation  just  to  furnish  Mr.  Davenant 
with  an  incentive  for  occupation,  could  we.  Cousin 
Rodney.^" 

"I  dare  say  not." 

"And  he  isn't  offering  us  the  money  merely  for 
the  sake  of  getting  rid  of  it,  do  you  think.?" 

"Then  what  is  he  offering  it  to  you  for.?" 

"That's  exactly  what  I  want  to  know.  Haven't 
you  any  idea.?" 

"Haven't  you?" 

She  waited  a  minute  before  deciding  to  speak 
openly.  "I  suppose  you  never  heard  that  he  once 
asked  me  to  marry  him?" 

He  betrayed  his  surprise  by  the  way  in  which  he 
put  down  the  little  Chinese  figure  and  wheeled 
round  more  directly  toward  her 

"Who?     Peter?" 

She  nodded. 

"What  the  dickens  made  him  do  that?" 

She  opened  her  eyes  innocently.  "I'm  sure  I 
can't  imagine." 

"It  isn't  a  bit  like  him.  You  must  have  led  him 
on." 

"I  didn't,"  she  declared,  indignantly.  '"I  never 
took  any  notice  of  him  at  iill.  Nothing  could  have 
astonished  me  more  than  his— his  presumption." 

176 


hil'e"rtr^"  *''  ^°"  "^  •"  W'^^TDidT^T^ 

nJ  7f  T"^  r"u''''.l"''  '''"''  P'^'y  tl"^  'rouble 
now  I  feel  as  if  he'd  been  nursing  a  grudge  against 
me  all  these  years-and  was  paying  it  "  ^ 

In  that  case  he's  got  you  on  the  hip,  hasn't  he  = 
It  _s  a  lovely  turning  of  the  tables. "        ''"'"'"'■ 

You  see  that,  Cousin   Rodney,  don't  you'     f 
couJJn  <  let  a  man  like'that  get  the  upper  hand  rfme  '' 

Of  course  you  couldn't,  dearie.     I'd  sit  on  him 

the  deuce"  '"''  *^'°""''='  C'-r  8°  to 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly.     "Let— wh,v_ 
go  to  the  deuce.'"  '  viho— 

"I  said  Delia   Rodman  and  Clorinda  Clav       T 
m,ght  have  mcluded  Fanny  Burnaby  and  thel^wn 

bn  doing  a  lot  of""'  "'""''''■  J  ^"PP^^  3-°"'™ 
Deen  domg  a  lot  of  worrymg  on  their  account." 

though!  of  S'^t  ar-    """"""''■     "'    '---•' 

on;i!:':h'atr"'";UeI  thC^PuTt?"  '^^"  ''"- 

your  father's  hands-or^hTnCh     Teo^prTu"" 
mlf' V^Tr'^u''  ""'''  '^"^  chances'^    S 
th  m    n"        ''""^  ">"•.  ^°"'t'  n»t  responsible  fo 
of  war     If  l"?°V'i'"K  ''fl  ="■'  f°^  'he  fortune 
own  lookout     Oh    I     h  ^u    "1'  """  '''="■»  'heir 
mind  for  a  minute'"         "'''"'  ''"^  "'^"'  °"  "->- 
strt'g^"  ""  """^'i  '°  -^P-t  him  of  ruse  or 

.77 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGJl T^ 

"I  haven't  had  them  on  my  mind.  It  seems 
queer  -and  yet  I  haven't.  Now  that  you  speak  of 
them,  of  course  I  see—"  She  passed  her  hand 
across  her  brow.  There  was  a  long,  meditative 
silence  before  she  resumed.  "I  don't  know  what  I've 
been  dreaming  of  that  it  didn't  occur  to  me  before. 
Papa  and  Mr.  Davenant  both  said  that  I  hadn't 
considered  all  the  sides  to  the  question;  and  I  sup- 
pose that's  what  they  were  thinking  of.  It  seems  so 
obvious — now." 

She  adjusted  her  veil  and  picked  up  her  parasol 
as  though  about  to  take  leave;  but  when  she  rose  it 
was  only  to  examine,  without  seeing  it,  a  piaqus 
hanging  on  the  wall. 

"If  papa  were  to  take  Mr.  Davenant's  money," 
she  said,  after  long  silence,  without  turning  round, 
"then  his  clients  would  be  as  well  off  as  before, 
wouldn't  they?" 

"I  presume  they  would." 
"And  now,  I  suppose,  they're  very  poor." 
"I  don't  know  much  about  that.  None  of  them 
were  great  heiresses,  as  it  was.  Miss  Prince,  who 
keeps  the  school,  told  your  cousin  Cherry  yesterday 
that  the  Rodman  girls  had  written  her  from  Florence, 
asking  if  she  could  give  them  a  job  to  teach  Italian. 
They'll  have  to  teach  away  like  blazes  now— any- 
thing and  everything  they  know," 

She  turned  round  toward  him,  her  eyes  misty  with 
distress. 

"See  this  bit  of  jade.?"  he  continued,  getting  up 
from  his  chair.  "Real  jade  that  is.  Cosway,  of 
the  Gallery,  brought  it  to  me  when  he  came  home 

178 


s 


THE    STREET    CJJ^rFn_^7-o^jcnT 

from  Peking      That's  not  real  jade  you've  got  at 

lory  Hill.     It's  jadeite."  got  at 

" Is  it ?"     She  took  the  httle  mandarin  in  her  hand 

but  without  exammmg  him.     "I've  no  doubt  you've 

I  rnear^''         ^  worried  about  them-papa's  dients^ 

1   7^uf~^  little-or,  rather,  not  at  all.     That  is 
1  should  have  been  worried  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
conviction  that  something  would  look  out  for  them 
Something  always  does,  you  know." 

The  faint  smile  that  seemed  to  have  got  frozen 
on  her  lips  quivered  piteously.     ''I  wish  you    S 
"n^%'  ?"^f°«3ble  feeling  about  me." 
Uh,  i   have      That  '11   be  all  right.     You'll   be 
taken  care  of  from  start  to  finish.     Don't  have  a 
qualm  of  doubt  about  it.     There's  a  whole  host  of 
ministering  spirits-angels  some  people  caH  them- 
1  don  t  say  I  should  myself-but  there  are  legions 
o    mighty  influences  appointed  to  wait  on  just  such 
brave  steps  as  you're  about  to  take."         ^ 
^^  Ihat  IS,  if  I  take  them!" 
"Oh,   you'll    take    'em   all    right,    dearie      Y,^..'II 

ought  to  be.     In  a  certain  sense  they'll  take  you 

as  that  bit  of  jade  '—he  took  the  carving  from  h/ 

r„f  al'hf^h""''  '''''  ■■'"•'-"-  -felyastha 

of  T-  itt  "is^:  -':^t:;^s.  "t.  vlr  tj 
">.-LsXe.  !;•:  pt:j"  h--hTe  t:sr:i 

U9 


w 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

mandarins,  merchants,  and  slaves;  it's  probably 
stood  in  palaces  and  been  exposed  in  shops;  it's 
certainly  come  over  mountains  and  down  rivers 
and  across  seas;  and  yet  here  it  is,  as  perfect  as  when 
some  sallow-faced  dwarf  of  a  craftsman  gave  it  the 
last  touch  of  the  tool  a  hundred  years  ago.  And 
that's  the  way  it  'II  be  with  you,  dearie.  You  may  go 
through  some  difficult  places,  but  you'll  come  out 
as  unscathed  as  my  little  Chinaman.  The  Street 
called  Straight  is  often  a  crooked  one;  and  yet  it's 
the  surest  and  safest  route  we  can  take  from  point 
to  point." 

As,  a  few  minutes  later,  she  hurried  homeward, 
this  mystical  optimism  was  to  her  something  like  a 
rose  to  a  sick  man— beautiful  to  contemplate,  but  of 
little  practical  application  in  alleviating  pain.     Her 
min     turned  away  from  it.     It  turned  away,  too, 
from  the  pillar  of  cloud,  of  which  the  symbolism 
began  to  seem  deceptive.     Under  the  stress  of  the 
moment  the  only  vision  to  which  she  could  attain 
was  that  of  the  Misses  Rodman  begging  for  the 
pitiful  job  of  teaching  Italian  in  a  young  ladies' 
school.       She     remembered     them     vaguely— tall, 
scraggy,  permanently  girlish  in  dress  and  manner,' 
and  looking  their  true  fifty  only  about  the  neck  and 
eyes.     With   their  mother  they  lived  in  a  pretty 
villa  on  the  Poggio  Imperiale,  and  had  called  on 
her  occasionally  when  she  passed  through  Florence. 
The  knowledge  of  being  indebted  to  them,  of  having 
lived  on  their  modest  substance  and  reduced  them  to 
poverty,  brought  her  to  the  point  of  shame  in  which 

1 80 


A 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

it  would  have  been  a  comfort  to  have  the  moun- 
tains fall  on  her  and  the  rocks  cover  her  from  the 
gaze  of  men.     She  upbraided  herself  for  her  bhnd- 
ness  to  the  most  obviously  important  aspect  of  the 
situation.     Now  that  she  saw  it,  her  zeal  to  "pay  " 
by   doing   penance   in    public,    became    tragir   and 
farcical  at  once      The  absurdity  of  making  satis- 
faction to  Mrs    Rodman  and  Mrs.  Clay,  to  Fanny 
Burnaby  and  the  Brown  girls,  by  calling  in  the  law, 
when  less  suffering-to  her  father  at  least-would 
give  them  actual  cash,  was  not  the  least  element  in 
ner  humiliation. 

She  walked  swiftly,  seeing  nothing  of  the  cheerful 
stir  around  her,  lashed  along  by  the  fear  that  Peter 
Davenant  might  have  left  'lory  Hill.  She  was  too 
intent  on  her  purpose  to  perceive  any  change  in  her 
mental  attitude  toward  him.  She  was  aware  of 
saying  to  herself  that  everything  concerning  him 
niust  be  postponed;  but  beyond  that  she  scarcely 
thought  of  hinri  at  all.  Once  the  interests  of  the  poor 
women  who  had  trusted  to  her  father  had  been 
secured,  she  would  have  time  to  face  the  claims  of 
this  new  creditor;  but  nothing  could  be  attempted 
till  the  one  imperative  duty  was  performed. 

Cooing  up  the  stairs  toward  her  father's  room,  the 
sound  of  voices  reassured  her.  Davenant  was  there 
still.  1  hat  was  so  much  relief.  She  was  able  to 
collect  herself,  to  put  on  something  like  her  habitual 

anVenTe'd    '"'''  '''°"  ^'^  ^"^'^'  ^^^  '^^  ^°- 

Guion  was  lying  on  the  couch  with  the  rug  thrown 

over  him.     Davenant   stood    b;-   the   fireplace,   en- 


^1 


I 


i  If 


f- 


daiiKerinK  with  his  elbow  a  dainrv  Clu-lsca  .slu.pkTTl- 
ess  on  the  mantelpiece.     He  was   smoking  one     f 
Cnuon  s  c.gars,  which  he  threw  into  an  ash-tray 
Uhvia  came  m.  ^ 

Conversation  stoppe  !  abruptly  on  her  appearance 
She  herself  walked  straight  to  the  round  tible  in  t  u' 
muidle  of  the  room,  and  fc:r  a  second  or  two,  wh 
eemed  much  longer  in  space  of  time,  stood  silen 
the  tips  of  her  fingers  ust  touching  a  packet  of  pamr 
strapped  w.th  rubber  bands,  which  The  gues  eS  th^ 
Davenant  must  have  brought.     Through  her  down 
cas    lashes  she  could  see,  thrown  carekssly  „n  .he 
table,  three  or  four  strips,  tinted  blue  or  green  or 
yellow,  which  she  recognized  as  checks 

I  only  want  to  say,"  she  began,  with  a  kind  of 
panting  m  her  breath-"!  only  want  to  say,  papa 
that  ,f  .  .  Mr.  Davenant  will  .  .  .  lend  you  the 
'noney  .  .  .  I  shall  be  ...  I  shall  be.  .  .  very  glad  '' 
Guion  said  nothmg.  His  eyes,  regarding  her 
aslant,  had  m  them  the  curious  receding  light  she 
had  noticed  once  before.  With  a  convulsive  clutch! 
mg  of  the  fingers  he  pulled  the  rug  up  about  his 

when    ?'"'"'"'•  ^r^   ^^   ^'  ^^^   »>-"    'tanding 

Piece  Wh^r  i"'  .'  \T  ''T^  ^"  '^^  --'^tel' 
p  ece.  When  she  looked  at  him  with  one  hastv 
glance,  she  noticed  that  he  reddened  hotly  ' 

1  ve  changed  my  .nind,"  she  went  on,  impelled 
by  the  sience  of  the  other  two  to  say  ^ome'thmg 
more  I  ve  changed  my  mind.  It's  because  of 
papa  s  chents-the  Miss  Rodmans  and  the  others- 
that  Ive  done  it.  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  never 
thought  of  them  till  this  afternoon.     I  don't  know 

182 


ft 
f 


THE    STREET    CALLED_HTRyljcn T 

why.  I've  been  very  dense.  I've  been  cruel. 
I've  considered  only  how  we  papa  and  I— could 
exonerate  ourselves,  if  you  can  call  it  exoneration. 
I'm  sorry." 

•'You  couldn't  be  expected  to  think  of  evtrythinR 
at  once,  Miss  Guion,"  Davenant  said,  clumsily. 

"I  might  have  been  expected  to  think  of  this; 
but  I  didn't.  I  suppose  it's  what  you  meant  when 
you  said  that  there  were  sides  to  the  question  that  I 
didn't  see.  You  said  it,  too,  papa.  I  wish  you  had 
spoken  more  plainly." 

"We  talked  it  over,  .Miss  Guion.  We  didn't  want 
to  .seem  to  force  you.  It's  the  kind  of  thing  that's 
better  done  when  it's  done  of  one's  own  impulse 
We  were  sure  you'd  come  to  it.  All  the  same,  if 
you  hadn  t  done  it  to-day,  we'd  made  up  our  minds 
to-to  suggest  It.  That's  why  I  took  the  liberty  of 
bringing  these  things.  Those  are  bonds  that  yc  j've 
got  your  hand  on-and  the  checks  make  up  the  sum 
total. 

By  an  instinctive  movement  she  snatched  her 
hngers  away;  but,  recovering  herself,  she  tw>k  the 
package  dehberately  into  her  hands  and  stood 
holding  It. 

"I've  been  explaining  to  Davenant,"  Guion  said, 
in  a  muffled  voice,  "that  things  aren't  quite  so  hope- 
less  as  they  seem.  If  we  ever  come  into  Aunt  Vic's 
money — 

]|But  there's  no  certainty  of  that,  papa." 
ISo  certainty,   but  a  good   deal  of  probability 
bhes  always  given  us  to  understand  that  the  money 
wouldn  t  go  out  of  her  own   family;  and   there's 

183 


'  I 


I 


.1   i. 


51   i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

f  It  should  come  to  us,  there'd  be  more  than  enough 
to-to    square    everything.     You'd    do    it,    dear 
wouldn't  you   ,f  Aunt  V,c  were  to  leave  the  whole 
thmg  to  you?    I  think  she's  as  likely  to  do  that t 

.  "Mr.  Davenant  must  know  already  that  I  shall 
&.ve  my  whole  life  to  trying  to  pay  our  debt  If 
there's  anythmg  I  could  sign  at  once-" 

Davenant  moved  from  the  fireside.  "There's 
nothmg  to  sign  Miss  Guion,"  he  said,  briefly.  "The 
matter^is  ended  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.     Mr.  Guion 

pressing  embarrassments.     That's  all  I  care  about 

Jiir  tT  "T  "^^  "^  ^'^^"'^  --  speak  oTlt 
agajn.     If  you  11  excuse  me  now— " 

strfvh'Tl'^  'T'"^  '^"  '°""^  ""''^  ^^'  hand  out- 
stretched   but  dunng  the  minute  or  two  in  which 

drawn  the  rug  oyer  his  face.  Beneath  it  there  was 
a  convulsive  shaking,  from  which  the  younger  man 
turned  away.  \^ith  a  nod  of  comprehension  to 
Olivia  he  tiptoed  softly  from  the  room.  As  he  dd 
o  he  could  see  her  kneel  beside  the  couch  and  kiss 
the  hand  that  lay  outside  the  coverlet 

She  overtook  him,  however,  when  he  was  down- 
sta^r^s  picking  up  his  hat  and  stick  from  th'Tall 

on^XlT'''^  T-  '"^^Ir"''  ""P  «f  '^^  stairs,  leaning 
on  the  low  white  pillar  that  finished  the  balustrade 
He  was  obliged  to  pass  her  on  his  way  to  the  door' 
Ihe  minute  was  the  more  awkward  for'^him  owing  to 

i8<|. 


•'5 
I 


lM.^TMEET_CJLL£D_^rRjIGHT 

tt  lt"oW^V\^'"^  "°'  "'''  ""^  '"'"•"'«  in  carry, 
ng  ir  off.    On  the  contrary,  she  made  it  harder  bv 

towa^Vt;1'lm'i;!:;i?;'''';.'i?-''^"n'e.tan<«ng 
Xj^:I^Sii[4-="ant^"r 

^^i^^  r;;LS  ?it?tt '"'^f f-— 

right  wav  bv  J.1^'  ^^T  '^^^  °"^  o"^>^  finds  the 

Jht  way  by  makmg  two  or  three  plunges  into  wrong 

"Do  you  think  I've  found  it  now?" 

not  aXtTe  VuThf  "k"  ^"'^"'  '"  '^'  ^"^^^^on,  and 

fervor   "I'm  '  '^^l  '"^""^^  ^'ni  to  say  with 

ier\or,     1  m  very  sure  of  it  "  ^ 

185' 


1. 


i 


^  •>', 


i        I 


i 

111 


■i! 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


you! 


It.' 


'And  you?"  she  asked.     "Is  it  the  right  way  for 
'Yes;  and  it's  the  first  time  I've  ever  struck 


She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "  I  don't  know.  I'm  a 
little  bewildered.^  This  morning  everything  seemed 
so  clear,  and  now — I  understand,"  she  went  on, 
"that  we  shall  be  taking  all  you  have." 

"Who  told  you  that?"  he  asked,  sharply. 

"It  doesn't  matter  who  told  me;  but  it's  very 
important  if  we  are.     Are  we?" 

He  threw  his  head  back  in  a  way  that,  notwith- 
standing her  preoccupation,  she  could  not  but  admire. 
"No;  because  I've  still  got  my  credit.  When  a 
man  has  that — " 

"But  you'll  have  to  begin  all  over  again,  sha'n't 
you?" 

"Only  as  a  man  who  has  won  one  battle  begins 
all  over  again  when  he  fights  another.  It's  nothing 
but  fun  when  you're  fond  of  war." 

"Didn't  I  do  something  very  rude  to  you — once 
— a  long  time  ago?" 

The  question  took  him  so  entirely  unawares  that, 
in  the  slight,  involuntary  movement  he  made,  he 
seemed  to  himself  to  stagger  backward.  He  was 
aware  of  looking  blank,  while  unable  to  control 
his  features  to  a  non-committal  expression.  He  had 
the  feeling  that  minutes  had  gone  by  before  he  was 
able  to  say: 

"It  was  really  of  no  consequence — " 

"Don't  say  that.  It  was  of  great  consequence. 
Any  one  can  see  that — now.     I   was  insolent.     I 

1 86 


m 


THE    STREET    CALLED    ^TRjjnrrr 

knew  I  had  been.  You  must  have  been  perfectly 
aware  of  it  all  these  years;  and-I  will  say  it'-I 
M  say  itl-you're  taking  your  revenge  -  very 

He  was  about  to  utter  something  in  protest,  but 
she  turned  away  abruptly  and  sp«d  up  the  stairs. 
Un  the  first  landing  she  paused  for  the  briefest  in- 
stant and  looked  down. 

"Good-by,"  she  faltered.  "I  must  go  back  to 
papa.  He'll  need  me.  I  can't  talk  any  more  just 
now.  I  m  too  bewildered-about  everything.  Col- 
onel Ashley  will  arrive  in  a  day  or  t^o,  and  after 
I  ve  seen  him  I  shall  be  a  little  clearer  as  to  what 
I  think;  and-and  then— I  shall  see  you  again  " 

He  continued  to  stand  gazing  up  the  stai'rway 
long  after  he  had  heard  her  close  the  door  of  Guion's 
room  behind  her. 


t 


XI 


:^-!i 


I    '■ 


JT   was    not    difficult   for   Davenant    to 
ascribe  his  lightness  of  heart,  on  leaving 
Tory    Hill,    to    satisfaction    in    getting 
rid  of  his  superfluous   money,  since  he 
had  some  reason  to  fear  that  the  pos- 
I  session    of  it   was    no    great    bles^-ing. 
To  a  man  with  little  instinct  for  luxury  and  no 
spending  tastes,  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  dollars 
•  a  year  was  an  income  far  outstripping  his  needs.     It 
was  not,  however,  in  excess  of  his  desires,  for  he 
would  gladly  have  set  up  an  establishment  and  cut 
a  dash  if  he  had  known  how.     He  admired  the  grand 
style  in  living,  not  so  much  as  a  matter  of  display, 
because  presumably  it  stood  for  all  sorts  of  mys- 
terious   retinements    for    which    he    possessed    the 
yearning  without  the  initiation.     The  highest  flight 
he  could  take  by  his  own  unaided  efl^orts  was  in  en- 
gaging the  best  suite  of  rooms  in  the  best  hotel, 
when  he  was  quite  content  with  his  dingy  old  lodg- 
ings;  in   driving   in   taxi      ).,    when   the   tram-car 
would  have  suited  him  ju».  as  well,  and  ordering 
champagne,  when  he  would  have  preferred  some 
commoner   beverage.      Fully   aware   of  the   insuf- 
ficiency of  this  method  of  reaching  a  higher  standard, 
he  practised  it  only  because  it  offered  the  readiest 

i88 


li    a\\ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 
means  he  could  find  of  straining  upward.     He  was 

to  iLh  f.^''*^  X""'^'  ^^°  ^"^^  ^^^  ^««  of  elegance 
to  lead  the  way  h.s  scent  for  following  would  be  keen 

enough;  but  between  him  and  the  acquisition  of 
this  treasure  there  lay  the  memory  of  the  haZtv 
young  creature  who  had,  in  the  met^a^>hor  with  wS 
he  was  most  famil.ar,  "turned  him  down  " 

But  It  was  not  the  fact  that  he  had  more  monev 
than  he  needed  of  which  he  was  afraid;  iTwasTathe^ 
the  perception  that  the  possibihty  of  induTg  ng  ht 

Tf  d;;^v"in  do"''^  "^''  ^'  ^°"^^'^^^  '-   '--  tnd 
ot  duty    n  domg  it  — was  sapping  his  vigor     AM 

through  the  second  year  of  his  holidfy  he  had  noticed 

in  himself  the  tendency  of  the  big,  strong-fibered 

animal  to  be  indolent  and  overfed.     On  the  princinle 

laid  do.n  by  Emerson  that  every  man   s  af  azy t 

he  dares  to  be  he  got  into  the  way  of  sleepingTate 

of  lounging  m  the  pubHc  places  of  hotels,  andlmok: 

ing  too  many  cigars.     Wvh  a  littie  encouragement 

he  could   have   contracte  i    the   incessant   cocktai 

Xat°ri:?;^"'-^°'^ '-'''' ''  --  ^'  '^^  -^ 

ion,     Why  should  I  try  to  make  more  money  when 
1  ve  got  enough  already.?"  to  which  th^  onZ       i 
was  in  that  va^ue  hone  of  "L"  r    ,     "'^  *"^P'>' 

SDired  Kv  k;      •  •        ^,  ^     ^°'"S  a  httie  good,"  in- 
spired by  his  visit  to  the  scene  of  his  parents'  work 

189 


i!  1 


»  fr 


TH^E    STREET    CALLED_STRAIGIIT^ 

ai  Hankow.     In  this  direction,  however,  his  apti- 
tudes were  no  more  spontaneous   than   they  were 
for  the  hfe  of  cultivated  taste.     Henry  Guion's  need 
struck   him,    therefore,    as   an   opportunity.     If  he 
took  other  views  of  it  besides,  if  it  made  to  him  an 
appeal  totally  different  from  the  altruistic,  he  was 
able  to  conceal  the  fact— from  himself,  at  any  rate- 
in  the  depths  of  a  soul  where  much  that  was  vital 
to  the  man  was  always  held  in  subliminal  darkness. 
It  disturbed  him,  then,  to  have  Drusilla  Fane  rifle 
this  sanctuary  with  irreverent  persistency,  dragging 
to  light  what  he  had  kept  scrupulously  hidden  away. 
Haying   found    her   alone    in    the    drawing-room 
drinking  her  tea,  he  told  her  at  once  what  he  had 
accomplished  in  the  way  of  averting  the  worst  phase 
of  the   danger   hanging  over   the   master  of  Tory 
Hill.     He  told  her,  too,  with  some  amount  of  elation, 
which  he  explained  as  his  glee  in  getting  himself 
down    to   "hard-pan."     Drusilla    allowed    the    ex- 
planation to  pass  till  she  had  thanked  him  ecstatically 
for  what  he  had  done. 

"Really,  Peter,  men  are  fine!  The  minute  I 
heard  Cousin  Henry's  wretched  story  I  knew  the 
worst  couldn't  come  to  the  worst,  with  you  here. 
I  only  wish  you  could  realize  what  it  means  to  have 
a  big,  strong  man  like  yoi  to  lean  on." 

Davenant  looked  pleased;  he  was  in  the  mood  to 
be  pleased  with  anything.  He  had  had  so  little 
of  women's  appreciation  in  his  life  that  Drusilla's 
enthusiasm  was  not  only  agreeable  but  new.  He 
noticed,  too,  that  in  speaking  Drusilla  herself  was 
at    her   best.     She   had    never    been    pretty.     Her 

190 


« 


-Jl 


mouth  was  too  large  her  cheek-bones  too  high,  and 
her  skm  too  sallow  for  that;  but  she  had  the  charm 
of  frankness  and  intelligence. 

Davenant  said  what  was  necessary  in  depreciation 
of  h.s  act.  gomg  on  to  explain  the  benefit  he  wodd 
reap  by  be.ng  obhged  to  go  to  work  again.  He  en- 
larged on  h.s  plans  for  taking  his  old  rooms  and  h"s 
old  office  and  informed  her  that  he  knew  a  fellow 
an  old  pal,  who  had  already  let  him  into  a  good  tS 
m  the  way  of  a  copper-mine  in  the  region  of  L  kf 
Supenor.  Drusilla  listened  with  interest  till  she 
found  an  opportunity  to  say: 

"I'm  so  glad  that  is  your  reason  for  helping  Cousin 
-r;^her'""^  '"'""  '  ^''  ""'''''  ^^-'  -gh"  b^ 

He    stopped    abruptly,    looking    dashed      Unac 

fe^Tt  took  t^'^    T^'°'^    of'attack    and    del 
^nse,  It  took  him  a  few  seconds   to  see  Drusilla's 

"You  thought  I  might  be-in  love?" 
bhe  nodded. 

J2^^^^'  ^"eer,"  he  went  on,  "because  I'd  got  the 
same  impression  about  you  " 

It  was  Drusilla's  turn  to  be  aghast.     She  was  a 
little  surprised  at  not  being  offended,  too. 

What  made  you  think  that?"  she  managed  rn 
ask,  after  getting  command  of  herself.         ^       '° 

heconceder-rd'"'  '^'T^  ""^^^'"S'     however," 
u^J^,'     ^  'lare  say  I'm  wrong." 

Ihats  a  very  good  conclusion  to  come  tn      T 
advise  you  to  keep  to  it."  *     ^ 

"I  will  if  you'll  do  the  same  about  me  " 

191 


I' 


.1, 


% 


i 


u? 


if 


II 


r^£  STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

She  seized  the  opening  to  carry  the  attack  back  in 
his  direction. 

"I  can't  make  a  bargain  of  that  kind,  Peter.  The 
scientific  mind  bases  its  conclusions  on — observed 
phenomena." 

"Which  I  guess  is  the  reason  why  the  scientific 
mind  is  so  often  wrong.  I've  had  a  good  deal  to  do 
with  it  in  the  copper-mine  business.  It's  always 
barking  up  the  wrong  tree.  I've  often  heard  it 
said  that  the  clever  scientist  is  generally  a  poor 
reasoner." 

"Well,  perhaps  he  is.  But  I  wasn't  reasoning.  I 
was  merely  going  by  instinct  when  I  thought  you 
might  have  a  special  motive  for  helping  Cousin 
Henry.  If  you  had,  you  know,  it  wouldn't  be  any 
harm." 

"It  mightn't  be  any  harm;  but  would  it  be  any 
good .'"' 

"Well,  that  might  depend  a  good  deal— on  you." 
"On  me.?     How  so?    I  don't  know  what  you're 
driving  at." 

"I'm^  not  driving  at  anything.  I'm  only  speculat- 
mg.  I'm  wondering  what  I  should  do  if  I  were  in 
your  place— with  all  your  advantages." 

"Rot,  Drusilla!" 

"If  I  were  a  man  and  had  a  rival,"  Drusilla  per- 
sisted, "I  should  be  awfully  honorable  in  the  stand 
I  d  take  toward  him— just  like  you.  But  if  anything 
miscarried — " 

"You  don't  expect  anything  to  miscarry?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "No;  I  don't  expect  it. 
But  It  might  be  a  fortunate  thing  if  it  did." 

192 


!#      * 


h 


i 


"You  don't  mean  to  infer  that  this  man  Ashlev 
mightn't  come  up  to  the  scratch  ?"  ^ 

"Colonel  Ashley  has  come  up  to  a  good  manr 
scratches  m  h.s  t.me.     He's  not  likely  toTil  in  ^ 


one 

.3''"'.''"'"'  "''^'  '"""'  's  'liere  to  it»" 
I  here  s  a  good  deal  more.     There  are  thine, 

"And  you  mean  that  your  Colonel  Ashley  would 
be  hrave  enough  to  walk  up  and  have  ^.^iTead  ct^ 

was\K?;.  B"ut!;i^th^rsj„z^r^[rt£: 

a  pity  It  should  have  to  fall."  ^      ^^ 

;;But  I  don't  understand  why  it  should." 

the  Raneers  it  m.rrl,^        i  ^"^'     ^^^^^  '" 

ference^xceotTif;  ^o^^P^ratively  little  dif- 

uncomf^^abir'  On IV'^u^''"  ^^'^'^  ^°"'^  ^^^I 
the  Horse  Guard^r^  "^  ^"  ^'^   mentioned   at 
they'd  remember  ,ht  rT"   "^^"'"''"^   ^^"^"^^"^ 
-so^methinrshlV^^U  r^i 
his  name  would  be  passed  over.''  ^'  ^"'^ 


13 


193 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  nodded  thoughtfully.     "I  sec." 

"Oh  no,  you  don't.  It's  much  too  intricate  for 
'  you  to  see.  You  couldn't  begin  to  understand  how 
poignant  it  might  become,  especially  for  her,  without 
knowing  their  ways  and  traditions  -" 

He  jumped  to  his  feet.  "Their  ways  and  tradi- 
tions be — !" 

"Yes;  that's  all  very  fine.  But  they're  very  good 
ways,  Peter.  They've  got  to  keep  the  honor  of  the 
Service  up  to  a  very  high  standard.  Their  ways 
are  all  right.  But  that  doesn't  keep  them  from 
being  terrible  forces  to  come  up  against,  especially 
for  a  proud  thing  like  her.  And  now  that  the 
postponing  of  the  wedding  has  got  into  the  pa- 
pers— " 

"Yes;  I've  seen  *em.  Got  it  pretty  straight,  too, 
all  things  considered." 

"And  that  sort  of  thing  simply  flies.  It  will  be 
in  the  New  York  papers  to-morrow,  and  in  the 
London  ones  the  day  after.  We  always  get  those 
things  cabled  over  there.  We  know  about  the  elope- 
ments and  the  queer  things  that  happen  in  America 
when  we  don't  hear  of  anything  else.  Within  forty- 
eight  hours  they'll  be  talking  of  it  at  the  Rangers' 
depot  in  Sussex— and  at  Heneage— and  all  through 
his  county— and  at  the  Horse  Guards.  You  see  if 
they  aren't!  You've  no  idea  how  people  have  their 
eye  on  him.  And  when  they  hear  the  wedding  has 
been  put  off  for  a  scandal  they'll  have  at  their  heels 
all  the  men  who've  hated  him— and  all  the  women 
who've  envied  her — " 

He  leaned  his  shoulders  against  the  mantelpiece, 

194 


THE    STREET    CALLED    ^TRAJCJIT 


"Pooh!    That  sort  of 


4 


his  hands  behind  his  back. 
doR  can  only  bark." 

"No;  that's  where  you're  wron^,  Peter.  In  Enir- 
land  It  can  bite.  It  can  raise  a  to-do  around  their 
name  that  will  put  a  dead  stop  to  his  promotion- 
that  is,  the  best  kind  of  promotion,  such  as  he's  on 
the  way  to. 

"The  deuce  take  his  promotion!    Let's  think  of 

— her. 

"That's  just  what  I   thought  you'd  do,   Peter; 
and  with  all  your  advantages—" 

"Drop   tliat,    Drusiila,"   he  commanded.     "You 

know  you  don't  mean  it.     You  know  as  well  as  I 

k    k''t^    T'"  \.^  chance-even  if  I  wanted  one- 

which  I  don  t     You're  not  thinking  of  me-or  of 

her.     You  re  thinking  of  him-and  how  to  get  him 

out  of  a  match  that  won't  tend  to  his  advancement." 

1  m  thinking  of  every  one.  Peter-of  every  one 

but  myself  that  is.     I'm  thinking  of  him,  and  her, 

and  you—  ' 

^JJhen  you'll   do   me   a   favor   \{  you   leave   me 

slim  :nd';^"fsh"  '"  '^"'  '^-^  ''"'^  «^-  '-^'"^ 
"I  can't  leav.  you  out,  Peter,  when  you're  the 
Hamlet  of  the  piece.  That's  nonsense.  I'm  not 
plotting  or  planning  on  any  one's  behalf.  It  isn't 
rny  temperament.  I  only  say  that  if  this-this 
atfair-didn  t  come  ofF-though  I  suppose  it  will- 
I  feel  sure  it  will-yet  ^i  it  didn't-then,  with  all 
>our  advantages-and  after  what  you've  done  for 


SI 


I' 


>J 


I 
f 
!  1  1 

(  5 


I-. 


H,  " 


{  -  ■ 

■ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  strode  forward,  almost  upsetting  the  tea-table 
beside  which  she  stood.  "Look  here,  Drusilla. 
You  may  as  well  understand  me  once  for  all.  I 
wouldn't  marry  a  girl  who  took  me  because  of  what 
I'd  done  for  her,  not  if  she  was  the  last  woman  in 
the  world." 

"  But  you  would  if  she  was  the  first,  Peter.  And 
I'm  convinced  that  for  you  she  is  the  first — " 

"Now,  now!"  he  warned  her,  "that  '11  do!  I've 
been  generous  enough  not  to  say  anything  as  to 
who's  first  with  you,  though  you  don't  take  much 
pains  to  hide  it.     Why  not — ?" 

"You're  all  first  with  me,"  she  protested.  "I 
don't  know  which  of  you  I'm  the  most  sorry  for." 

"Don't  waste  your  pity  on  me.  I'm  perfectly 
happy.  There's  only  one  of  the  lot  who  needs  any 
consideration  whatever.  And,  by  God!  if  he's  not 
true  to  her,  I'll — " 

"Your  intervention  won't  be  called  for,  Peter," 
she  assured  him,  making  her  way  toward  the  door. 
"You're  greatly  mistaken  if  you  think  I've  asked 
for  it." 

"Then  for  Heaven's  sake  what  have  you  asked 
for?     /  don't  see." 

She  was  in  the  hall,  but  she  turned  and  spoke 
through  the  doorway.  "I've  only  asked  you  not 
to  be  an  idiot.  I  merely  beg,  for  all  our  sakes,  that 
if  something  precious  is  flung  down  at  your  feet 
you'll  have  the  common  sense  to  stoop  and  pick  it 
up. 

"I'll  consider  that,"  he  called  after  her,  as  she 
sped  up  the  stairs,  "when  I  see  it  lying  there." 

196 


;  ;ii 


i.ii 


XII 


••I 


may   be   admitted   at  once  that,  on 
arriving     at    Tory    Hill    and    hearing 
from  Olivia's  lips  the  tale  of  her  father's 
downfall,    Colonel    Rupert    Ashley    re- 
ceived the  first  perceptible   check  in  a 
!very  distinguished  career.      Up  to  this 
point  the  sobriquet  of  "Lucky  Asm.    ,'  by  which  he 
was   often   spoken   of  in    the   Rai.gers,    had    been 
justified    by    more    than    one    spectacular    success. 
He  had  fulfilled  so  many  special  missions  to  un- 
civilized   and    half-civilized    and    queerly    civilized 
tribes  that  he  had  come  to  feel  as  if  he  habitually 
went  on  his  way  with  the  might  of  the  British  Em- 
pire to  back  him.     It  was  he  who  in  South  Africa 
brought  the  M'popos  to  order  without  shedding  a 
drop  of  blood;  it  was  he  who  in  the  eastern  Soudan 
induced  the  followers  of  the  Black  Prophet  to  throw 
in  their  lot  with  the  English,  securing  by  this  move 
the  safety  of  Upper  Egypt;  it  was  he  who  in  the 
Malay  1  eninsula  intimidated  the  Sultan  of  Surak 
into   accepting   the    British    protectorate,    thus    re- 
moving a  menace  to  the  peace  of  the  Straits  Settle- 
ments.    Even  if  he  had  had  no  other  exploits  to  his 
credit,   these  alone  would   have   assured   his   favor 
with  the  home  authorities.     It  had  become  some- 

197 


W  ; 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

thing  like  a  habit,  at  the  Colonial  Office  or  the  War 
Office  or  the  Foreign  Office,  as  the  case  might  be, 
whenever  there  was  trouble  on  one  of  the  Empire's 
vague  outer  frontiers,  to  ask,  "Where's  Ashley?" 
Wherever  he  wr.s,  at  Gibraltar  or  Simla  or  Cairo 
or  at  the  Rangrrs'  depot  in  Sussex,  he  was  sent  for 
and  consulted.     Once  having  gained   a  reputation 
for  skill  in  handling  barbaric  potentates,  he  knew 
how  to  make  the  most  of  it,  both  abroad  and  in 
Whitehall.     On   rejoining  his   regiment,   too,   after 
some  of  his  triumphant  expeditions,  he  was  cartful 
to  bear  himself  with  a  modesty     lat  took  the  point 
from   detraction,   assuring,   as   it  did,   his   brother- 
officers  that  they  would  have  done  as  well  as  he,  had 
they  enjoyed  the  same  chances. 

He  was  not  without  a  policy  in  this,  since  from 
the  day  of  receiving  his  commission  he  had  combined 
a  genuine  love  of  his  profession  with  a  quite  laudable 
mtention  to  "get  on."     He  cherished  this  ambition 
more  naturally,   perhaps,   than   most  of  his  com- 
r-des,  who  took  the  profession  of  arms  lightly,  for 
the  reason  that  the  instinv  c  for  it  might  be  said  to 
be  in  his  blood.     The  Ashleys  were  not  an  old  coun- 
ty family.     Indeed,  it  was  only  a  generation  or  so 
since  they  had   achieved  county   rank.     It  was   a 
fact  not  generally  remembered  at  the  present  day 
that  the  grandfather  of  the  colonel  of  the  Sussex 
Rangers  had  been  a  successful  and  estimable  manu- 
facturer of  brushes.     In  the  early  days  of  Queen 
Victoria   he^  owned   a   much -frequented    emporium 
in  Regent  Street,  at  which  you  could  get  anything 
in   the   line   from   a   tooth-brush   to   a  currycomb. 

ig8 


:ll' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Retiring  from  business  in  the  fifties,  with  a  consider- 
able fortune  for  the  time,  this  Mr.  Ashley  had  pup. 
chased  Heneage  from  the  impoverished  representa- 
tjves  of  the  Umfravilles.     As  luck  would  have  it 
the   new  owners    found   a    not   unattractive   Miss 
Umfraville  almost  gomg  with  the  place,  since  she 
hved  m  select  but  mexpenrive  lodgings  in  the  village 
Her  manner,  bemg  as  gentle  as  her  blood,  and  her 
face  even  gentler  than  either,  if  such  a  thing  could 
rL  A  T^"  '"^^P'"^  ^/^h  the  spirit  that  had  borne 

Y  Ir  f  M^  '°  '°°^  "P°"  ^^'  ^'  ^n  opportunity 

Young  Mr.  Ashley,  to  whom  his  father  had  been  able 
to  give  the  advantages  of  Oxford,  knew  at  a  glance 
that  with  th.s  lady  at  his  side  recognition  by  ?he 
county  would  be  assured.  Being  indifferent  to 
recognition  by  the  county  except  in  so  far  as  it 
expressed  a  phase  of  advancement,  and  superior  to 
calculation  as  a  motive  for  the  matrimonial  state 
yo^r  Ashley  proceeded  with  all  due  formali  y  to 

to  tli?.        'rV'  r  f'""'"  '^'  P^^^i°"  incidental 
to  this  episode  that  Lucky  Ashley  was  born. 

All  this  had  happened  so  long  ago,  according  to 
modern  methods  of  reckoning,  that^the  county  Ld 
already  forgotten  what  it  was  the  original  Ashley  had 
manufacture  ,  or  that  he  had  nanufa'ctured  anything 
tl  at  H.n^  ''^^^^^"g^'-  generation  it  was  assumed 
t  a  Heneage  had  passed  to  the  Ashley  familv 
hrough  intermarriage  with  the  Umfravilles  Cer- 
ta.n  jt  was  that  the  Ashleys  maintained  the  Um- 

Wl         v'.^'''""   ""^   "^'^^    ^he   Umfraville   arms 
What  chiefly  survived  of  the  spirit  that  had  mTde 
the  manufacture  of  brushes  so  lucrative  a  trade  was 

199 


•I  I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

the  intention  young  Rupert  Ashley  took  with  him 
into  the  army — to  get  on. 

He  had  got  on.  Every  one  spoke  of  him  nowadays 
as  a  commg  man.  It  was  conceded  that  when  gen- 
erals like  Lord  Englemere  or  Lord  Bannockburn 
passed  away,  it  would  be  to  such  men  as  Rupert 
Ashley— the  number  of  them  could  be  counted  on 
tne  fingers  of  your  two  hands!— that  the  country 
would  look  for  its  defenders.  They  were  young 
men,  comparatively,  as  yet;  but  they  were  waiting 
qnd  in  training.  It  was  a  national  asset  to  know 
that  they  were  there. 

It  was  natural,  then,  that  Ashley's  eyes  should  be 
turning  in  the  direction  of  the  great  appointments. 
He  had  won  so  much  distinction  in  the  Jakh  War  and 
the  Dargal  War  that  there  was  nothing  to  which 
with  time,  he  could  not  aspire.  True,  he  had  rivals; 
true,  there  were  men  who  could  supplant  him  with- 
out putting  any  great  strain  upon  their  powers; 
true,  there  were  others  with  more  family  influence 
especially  of  that  petticoat  influence  which  had  been 
known  to  carry  so  much  weight  in  high  and  au- 
thoritative quarters;  but  he  had  confidence  in  him- 
self, in  his  ability,  his  star— the  last  named  of  which 
had  the  merit  of  always  seeming  to  move  forward 

Everything  began  to  point,  therefore,  to  his 
marrying.  In  a  measure  it  was  prrt  of  his  qualifica- 
tion for  high  command.  He  had  reached  that  stage 
m  his  development,  both  private  and  professional, 
at  which  the  co-operation  of  a  good  and  graceful 
wife  would  double  his  capacity  for  public  service, 
besides   giving   him    that   domestic   consolation   of 

300 


'Mf^'tmii^M&B 


THE    STREET ^CJU^Rn_^DjjcHT 

which  he  began  to  feel  the  need.  There  were  posts 
he  could  thmk  of-posts  that  would  naturally  be 
vacant  before  many  years  were  past-in  which  the 
fact  of  h.s  being  unmarried  would  be  a  serious  draw- 
back if  his  name  were  to  come  up.  Better  to  be 
unmarried  than  to  be  saddled  with  a  wife  who  from 
any  dehciency  of  birth  or  manner  was  below  the  level 
of  her  station!  Of  course!  He  had  seen  more  than 
one  man,  splendidly  quahfied  otherwise,  passed  over 
because  of  that  mischance.     But  with  a  wife  who 

go  tar.     Who  could  venture  to  say  how  far? 

In  this  respect  he  was  fortunate  in  knowing 
exactly  what  he  wanted.  That  is,  he  had  seen 
enough  of  the  duties  of  high  position  to  be  critica" 
of  the  ladies  who  performed  them.  Experience  en 
abled  him  to  create  his  ideal  by  a  process'of  elimi^a- 
tion.  Many  a  time,  as  he  watched  some  great 
general  s  wife-Lady  Englemere,  let  us  say'r  Lady 
B  nnockburn-receive  her  guests,  he  said  to  him- 

^h      J,     ij    ''  ?^"'^  ^^^"^  "^y  ^'fe  shall  not  be  " 
She  should  not  be  a  military  intrigante  liVe  the  one 

like  \'\^!  "^"'"^^  'l\^^  -'-'  ---  -  gaX; 
like  a   third,  nor  a  snob  like  a  fourth,  nor  a  fool 

By"d  nfoT'f  "';  ^'^^  r-'^'  ^^  -"'^  think  of 
t5y  dmt  of  fastidious  observation  and  careful  re 
jection  of  the  qualities  of  which  he  disapproved  t 
vision  rose  before  him  of  the  woman  who  would  be 
the  complement  of  himself.  He  saw  her  clever 
wTtht'ertt'^  V  ^'°"^^"  ^^  ^^^  worltfatX; 
language  besides  her  mother-tongue.     In  dress  she 

20I 


■'^ 


'\-m.t 


'-Kir 


I  «f 


! 


i| 


W   i^ 


:  ■)   .'  -V 


i    ■-: 


ml 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

should  be  exquisite,  in  conversation  tactful,  in  man- 
ner sympathetic.  As  mistress  of  the  house  she 
should  be  thorough;  as  a  hostess,  full  of  charm;  as 
a  mother — but  his  imagination  hardly  went  into 
that.  That  she  should  be  a  perfect  mother  he  took 
for  granted,  just  as  he  took  it  for  granted  that  she 
should  be  beautiful.  A  woman  who  had  the  quali- 
fications he  desired  could  not  be  less  than  beautiful 
from  the  sheer  operation  of  the  soul. 

Considering  how  definite  his  ideas  were— and 
moderate,  on  the  whole— it  surprised  him  to  find 
no  one  to  embody  them.  It  sometimes  seemed  to 
him  that  the  traditional  race  of  Englishwomen  had 
become  extinct.  Those  he  met  were  either  brilliant 
and  hard,  or  handsome  and  horsey,  or  athletic  and 
weedy,  or  smart  and  selfish,  or  pretty  and  silly,  or 
sweet  and  provincial,  or  good  and  grotesque.  With 
the  best  will  in  the  world  to  fall  in  love,  he  found 
little  or  no  temptation.  Indeed,  he  had  begun  to 
think  that  the  type  of  woman  on  whom  he  had  set 
his  heart  was,  like  some  article  of  an  antiquated 
fashion,  no  longer  produced  when  unexpectedly 
he  saw  her. 

He  saw  her  unexpectedly,  because  it  was  at  church; 
and  whatever  his  motives  on  that  bright  Sunday 
morning  in  May  in  attending  the  old  garrison  chapel 
in  Southsea,  the  hope  of  seeing  his  virion  realized 
was  not  one.  If,  apart  from  the  reasons  for  which 
people  are  supposed  to  go  to  church,  he  had  any 
special  thought,  it  was  that  of  meeting  Mrs.  Fane. 
It  had  happened  two  or  thr.a  times  already  that, 
having  perceived  her  at  the  service,  he  had  joined 

202 


-jg 


her  on  the  Common  afterward,  and  she  had  asked 
h,m  home  to  lunch.  They  had  been  pleasant  little 
luncheons-so  pleasant  that  he  almost  regretted  the 
fact  that  she  was  an  American.  He  had  noth  „s 
agamst  Amencans  .n  themselves.     He  knew  a  num? 

n„"f  T  rr"  ^^''  '■="'  """"'^  i"«  one  arm  or 
another  of  the  Service  with  conspicuous  advanTaae 
to  the,r  husbands.     That,  in  fact,  was  part  of  "he 

Z  h'-|  Au'  ^^"^  ?  "■='">'  of  them  nowadays 
that  he  had  begun  to  feel  vaguely  that  where  there 

^stlyThaHn"  hf  '*''  T"'""-^"''  "^^  "^"P"^  ™"- 
stly  that  m  his  case  there  was  distinctly  question 

"'wvTTK'V'  '™^  ''■e  principle  was  be"nTes 
tabhshed  of  England  for  the  English      NeTeftht 
less,  he  had  got  so  far  in  his  consideration  of  Drus.'h. 
tane  as  to  ask  himself  whether  she  was  not,  as    he 
widow  of  a  Bntish  officer,  an  Enghshwoma^  to  all 

of   hTlaw'  ?f7°"?/^  "'"  '^  '"  '•'^  "rict  fette? 

•  It       t     '^".could  not  say  that  he  was  in  love 

with  her;  but  neither  could  he  say  that  one  of  the™ 

■ceTairlvr'''  T  '"     ",  ""'  -"  were  it  would 

than'thaT      "  '''°""  ''^  "'^^  °"  "°  "'"-t  i™"nd 
Such  criticism  as  he  had  to  make  to  her  dls.,d 
van  a      he  could  form  there  and  then  I  the  chapel 
t^^^'^r'  ""^'"^  't'  '^^^°"^  <"  Chan  i^g  tTe 
on-'th:-  othe:  :-dV:?  ^he'tl'-^TheV™"  "'''"'' 

203 


»: 


-  v^ilm 


»1. 


i1 1"' 


ii 


••5 


r//Jg    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

see  who  was  behind  her  or  at  the  other  end  of  the 
pew;  she  rarely  found  the  places  in  the  prayer-book 
or  knew  just  when  to  kneel  down;  when  she  did 
kneel  down  she  sank  into  an  awkward  Httle  bunch; 
every  now  and  then  she  stifled,  or  did  not  stifle,  a 
yawn. 

Ashley  had  a  theory  that  manner  in  church  is  the 
supreme  test  of  the  proprieties.  He  knew  plenty 
of  women  who  could  charm  at  a  dinner  or  dazzle  at  a 
dance,  but  who  displayed  their  weaknesses  at  prayer. 
All  unwitting  to  herself,  poor  Drusilla  was  inviting 
his  final— or  almost  final— judgment  on  her  future, 
so  far  at  least  as  he  was  concerned,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  she  twitched  and  sighed  and  forgot 
to  say  the  Amens. 

And  just  then  his  eyes  traveled  to  her  neighbor 
—a  tall  young  lady,  dressed  in  white,  with  no  color 
in  her  costume  but  a  sash  of  hues  trembling  between 
sea-green  and  lilac.     She  was  slender  and  graceful, 
with  that  air  at  once  exquisite  and  unassuming  that 
he  had  seen  in  the  Englishwoman  of  his  dreams. 
Though  he  could  get  no  more  than  a  side  glimpse  of 
her  face,  he  divined  that  it  was  pure  and  that  it 
must  be  thrown  into  relief  by  the  heavy  coil  of  cop- 
pcr\'-brown  hair.     But  what  he  noticed  in  her  first 
was  that  which  he  thought  of  concerning  other  women 
last— a  something  holy  and  withdrawn,   a  quality 
of  devotion  without  which  he  had  no  conception  of 
real  womanhood.     It  seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  high 
courtesy  with   her  not  to  perceive  that  the  choir- 
boys sang  out  of  tune  or  that  the  sermon  was  prosy. 
In  the  matter  of  kneeling  he  had  seen  only  one  woman 

204 


..m* 


^^^^^ml^^M^^W^: 


■rfpfi 


■^k 


V 

I 


I 


in  his  life-and  she  the  highest  in  d^H^i^d^i^irdid 
It  with  this  marvelous  grace  at  once  dignified  and 
humb  e.     "It  takes  old  England,"  he  said  to  hm^ 
-^i7'^'     ^°  "^'^  '^"  ^'^^  that-.imp,e  and 
But  on  the  Common  after  service,  and  at  lun-heon 
after  that,  and  during  the  three  or  four  weeks  that 
ensued,  he  had  much  to  do  in  reforming  his  opinions 
There  were  several  facts  about  Olivia  Guion  that  chs- 
o  lentated  his  points  of  view  and  set  him  looking  for 
new  ones      Though  he  was  not  wholly  successful  in 
hnd,np  them    he  managed,  nevertheless,  toTusi; 
himself  for  falling  m  love  in  violation  of  his  prin^ 
ciples.     He  admitted  that  he  would  have  preferred 
to  marry  a  compatriot  of  his  own,  and  some  one 
above  the  rank  of  a  solicitor's  daughter;  but,  sTnce  he 
had  discovered  the  loveliest  and  noble  t  crea  "re  in 
'he  world.  It  was  idle  to  cavil  because  one  hnd  Z 
one  situation  in  life  rather  than  another  had  produced 

deck  the  English  crown  because  some  were  found  in 
Tibetan  mountains  and  others  in  Indian  seas.  The  " 
are  treasures,  he  argued,  so  precious  as  to  transcend 

dTr^fcrx  """"r  ^'  "^^''"^  ^^^ " 

m  O  ivi    r  J  u  T  '^'"S  '°  "^^  P°'"^  was  that 

in  Ulivia  Gu.on  he  had  won  the  human  counterpart 

;[e[nhe.!;."'°  -"^'^  -fl-^  his  qualities  and'cl" 

He  had  been  so  proud  that  the  blow  on  receiving 
Ohvia  s  letter  in  New  York  was  a  cruel  one  TC?1 
-  told  him  nothing  but  that  her  fatter  hadTosta,! 

205 


rl  - 


t  i" 


» 


3t 


I  I 
I  I 


^ia  -'A 


•■¥ 


■I 


I 


THE    STREET   CALLED    STRAIGHT 

his  money  and  that  the  invitations  to  the  wedding 
had  been  withdrawn,  this  in  itself  was  immeasurably 
distressing  to  a  man  with  a  taste  for  calling  pubHc 
attention  to  his  movements  and  who  liked  to  see 
what  concerned  him  march  with  a  certain  pomp. 
His  marriage  being  an  event  worthy  to  take  place  in 
sight  of  the  world,  he  had  not  only  found  ways  of 
making  it  a  topic  of  interest  before  leaving  England, 
but  he  had  summoned  to  it  such  friends  of  distinc- 
tion as  he  possessed  on  the  American  side  of  the 
water.     Though  he  had  not  succeeded  in  getting  the 
British  Ambassador,  Benyon,  the  military  attache 
at  Washington,  was  to  come  with  his  wife,  and  Lord 
Woolwich,  who  was  aide-de-camp  at  Ottawa,  had 
promised  to  act  as  best  man.     His  humiliation  on 
speculating  as  to  what  they  must  have  said  when 
they   received   Olivia's   card   announcing   that    the 
marriage  was  not  to  take  place  on  the  28th  was  such 
that  he  fell  to  wondering  whether  it  wouldn't  have 
been  better  to  bluff  the  loss  of  money.     They  might 
have  carried  out  their  plans  in  spite  of  it.     Indeed 
he  felt  the  feasibility  of  this  course  the  more  strongly 
after  he  had  actually  seen  Olivia  and  she  had  given 
him  the  outlines  of  her  tale. 

Watching  his  countenance  closely,  she  saw  that 
he  blanched.  Otherwise  he  betrayed  no  sign  of 
flinching.  His  manner  of  sitting  rigid  and  upright 
in  his  corner  of  the  rustic  seat  was  a  perfectly  nat- 
ural way  of  listening  to  a  story  that  affected  him 
so  closely.  What  distressed  her  chiefly  was  the 
incongruity  between  his  personality  and  the  sordid 
drama  in  which  she  was  inviting  him  to  take  part. 

206 


He  was  even  more  distinguished-looting  ,!,,„  u 
appeared  in  .l,e   photographs  it  3hed  or  in' 
the  v,s,on  she  had  retained  in  her  memory      Wi.h 

Xi^-f^^t-spira'n/:d-15 

Tt  iiici-  «-u«  •  L  •  ^  "•'^ '  ''^  ^^^^  on  nis  shoulders 
UTa  "^t'  -P^'^"  ^°^  command.     The  S 

budged  nose,  mhented  from  the  Umfravilles  wa^  o^ 
the  kmd  commonly  considered  to  show  'W^' 
Ihe  eyes  had  the  sharpness  and  ^k«  I-  i-  . 
mouth  the  inflexibility   f hi?  l  ^  thm-hpped 

quick  decisions      VVht  he  wfs  Z    '  ""'"^^  '°^ 
mufti  as  in  his  uniform    the  trir .  '"^  '1"^''""^  '" 

-..hathispreser;a,t^-.L^-^^^^^^^^ 

meet  him  when  she  sawlnm  tZ.  ht'tataTaTth" 

en  ounter    miX'°tat°  "?  '"  °""  "'"  ""-  «"' 
the  windowTof  thl  „  ■  t^-   °r°"«"-»-     With 

people  sittr„g  on  verandS""^  ^™^"  °P™  =•"<< 
the  road,  they  couU  1  h        P'"'"*  "P  ="''  ''o™ 

conventi;nal  greetinl     st"''  '"'."""'  '''='"  ^"""^ 
on  the  ground  of  ,h!-  «'°"'d  assume  nothing 

other.     He  se    °ed  ,n    "'"■  """^'"S  '"ward  each 

formaht/^fZCrand's  '""^  "'"''''^'   '"  ""^ 
Happdy  for  both,  commonplace  words  were  given 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


ci- 


thern— questions  and  answers  as  to  his  voyage,  his 
landing,  his  hotel.     He  came  to  her  relief,  too,  as 
w  they  sauntered  toward  the  house,  by  commenting 

on  its  dignity  and  Georgian  air,  as  well  as  by  turning 
once  or  twice  to  look  at  the  view.     Nearing  the  steps 
she  swerved  from  the  graveled  driveway  and  began 
'  to  cross  the  lawn. 

"We  won't  go  in  just  yet,"  she  explained.     "  Papa 
.  is  there.     He  felt  he  ought  to  dress  and  come  down- 

stairs to  receive  you.  ile's  very  far  from  well.  I 
hope  you'll  do  your  best  not  to — to  think  of  him  too 
harshly." 

"I  shouldn't  think  harshly  of  any  one  simply  be- 
cause he'd  had  business  .bad  luck." 

"He  has  had  business  bad  luck — but  that  isn't 
all.     We'll  sit  here." 

Taking  one  corner  of  a  long  garden-seat  that  stood 
in  the  shade  of  an  elm,  she  signed  to  him  to  take  the 
other.  On  the  left  they  had  the  Corinthian-col- 
umned portico  of  the  garden  front  of  the  house;  in 
the  distance,  the  multicolored  slopes  of  the  town. 
Olivia,  at  least,  felt  the  stimulating  effect  of  the 
golden  forenoon  sunshine. 

As  for  Ashley,  in  spite  of  his  outward  self-posses- 
sion, he  was  too  bewildered  to  feel  anything  at  all. 
Having  rushed  on  from  New  York  by  night,  he  was 
now  getting  his  first  daylight  glimpse  of  America; 
and,  though,  owing  to  more  urgent  subjects  for 
thought,  he  was  not  consciously  giving  his  attention 
to  things  outward,  he  had  an  oppressive  sense  of 
immensity  and  strangeness.  The  arch  of  the  sky 
was  so  sweeping,  the  prospect  before  them  so  gor- 

208 


I 


geous,   the  sunliftht  so  haXTI^Td^T'^h^i^";, 
clear!     tor  the  first  time  in  his  life  a  new  continen 
aroused  ,n  h.m  an  odd  sense  of  antagonism.     He  ha" 
never  had  .t  m  Afnca  or  Asia  or  in  the  isles  of  the 
Southern  Sea.      Ihe-.  he  had  always  gone  with  a 
sense  of  power    w.th  the  instinct  of  the  conqueror 
wh.le  here  . .  .  Hut  Olivia  was  speaking.  saymgEs' 
too  appalhng   for  immediate  comprehension         ^ 

certain TnV'f  ^'"''"  cl^  "^^■"'  '^"^  '^^^^  ^'th  a 
ctrtam  kmd  of  ease.  She  appeared  to  rehearse 
somethmg  already  learned  by  heart  ^^"*=arst 

So,    you    see     he    didn't    merelv    lose    his    own 
money;  he  lost  theirs-the  money'of  his  clients 
wh.ch  was  m  h.s  trust.     I  hadn't  heard  of  it  when  I 
wrote  you  m  New  York,  otherwise  I  should  hTve 
told  you.      But  now  that  you  know  it-" 

be  in   t^^lr^-:^''  J^">'  '-^^y  -t   to 
"c  in   tngiand,     he  said,   trvinu  nnr  t,.  o,..„ 

stunned  a=  he  felt.     "There  that  sort  .f.K  "' 

very  seriou.-"  """  "'  '"""S  '"  ^ 

"Offence,"  she  hastened  to  say.     "Oh    so  It  U 
here.    I  must  tell  you  quite  plainly  that  if  the  monev 
hadn  t  come  papa  would  have  had  to  go  tc^'      "^ 
But  the  money  did  come=" 

the  mone'.'^W?'"'  "^  ""''""'"S  I"-  ^'^"t'^nce.     "If 

go  tonr^on      v'  T"  "'"^  T'"'''  ^^-^  ^-^   " 
go  to  prison      Y  es    the  money  did  come.     A  friend 

be7n  Lr/""  "'■"'t    "'•"'i"^ ''-advanced    it.       t" 

'3o  tht™f^,:  n[:,::l'r-  -- '-  -aw.  •• 


14 


209 


i  If  L 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGin 

She  continued  to  talk  on  gently,  evenly,  giving 
him  the  facts  unsparingly.  It  was  the  only  way 
Her  very  statements,  so  it  seemed  to  her,  implied 
that  as  marriage  between  them  was  no  longer  possible 
their  engagement  was  at  an  end. 

She  was  not  surprised  that  he  scarcely  noticed 
when,  having  said  all  she  had  to  say,  she  ceased 
speaking.  Taking  it  for  granted  that  he  was  think- 
ing out  the  most  merciful  way  of  putting  his  verdict 
into  words,  she,  too,  remained  silent.  She  was  not 
impatient,  nor  uneasy,  nor  alarmed.  The  fact  that 
the  business  of  telling  him  was  no  longer  ahead  of 
lier,  that  she  had  got  it  over,  brought  so  much  relief 
that  she  felt  able  to  await  his  pleasure. 

She  mistook,  however,  the  nature  of  his  thoughts. 
Once  he  had  grasped  the  gist  of  her  information, 
he  paid  Httle  attention  to  its  details.  The  impor- 
tant thing  was  his  own  conduct.  Amid  circum- 
stances overwhelmingly  difficult  he  must  act  so  that 
every  one,  friend  or  rival,  relative,  county  magnate 
or  brother  officer,  the  man  in  his  regiment  or  the 
member  of  his  club,  the  critic  in  England  or  the  on- 
looker in  America,  should  say  he  had  done  precisel} 
the  right  thing. 

He  used  the  words  "precisely  the  right  thinj;" 
because  they  formed  a  ruling  phrase  in  his  career. 
tor  twenty-odd  years  they  had  been  written  on  the 
tablets  of  his  heart  and  worn  as  frontlets  between  his 
brows.  They  had  first  been  used  in  connecrion  with 
him  by  a  great  dowager  countess  now  deceased. 
She  had  said  to  his  mother,  apropos  of  some  forgot- 
ten bit  of  courtliness  on  his  part,  "You  can  always  be 

2IO 


if 


^v 


:w^ 


THE  STREET  C  ^  r  r  jn^_j^rir[n!T 
sure  that  Rup«t  will  do  preci^the  ,ight  thine  " 
rhough  he  was  but  a  lad  at  Eton  at  the  time  he  had 
been  so  proud  of  this  opinion,  expresseu  w^h  alU 
dowager  countess's  authority,  that  from  the  moment 

device     It  had  kept  h,m  out  of  more  scrapes  than 

he  could  reckon  up,  and  had  even  inspired7he  act 

that  would  make  his  name  glorious  a,  l„n„  ,1  ,1, 

were  annals  of  the  Victoria  Cross  ^       '''"' 

He  had  long  been  persuaded  that  had  the  dowai-er 

countess  not  thus  given  the  note  ,«  w!,     ?°^^f'" 

his  record  would  never  have  been  wn,         "'?" 

roll  of  heroes.     "I  shouW  ha've^^nked't'"  "w"/ h" 

way  of  putting  It  by  which  he  meant  that'  he  wlu Id 

iTof^tattltlte^htTn^ 

t:'^:tf^  Y"'-'  ^-  u"„lrt^app':er 
fro;h^e:;:/4''r^,''rf-— ^^^^ 

hi;  wX'  ■■\™™"raged  by  a  sympathetic  public  -• 

htfet;ry'yf;:eTit^^^^^^ 

.hat  he  was  at  his  L^tThl-^cTull^t  XX 

.t: 'o7y„irg~e.;':h:  '°r\"^  '^^  p"- 
itude  might  i^t::^:^t:;^z^ 

.  It  was   undoubtedly    because   he   felr    fh?T 

;S;x":ig'ht^Sr  ^™  ^^'^  ^o  ^- 

Cross/He 'co-ited*"     i;:it:""himfelf'"Hj"°"^ 
fessed  it  often— everv  t.r,,^   •    r     """fe"-     He    con- 

a  difficult  pasrgiiTrjif:::^^;;^^^^^^.":;^: 


^m: 


«'■ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

his  inspiration.  He  confessed  it  now.  If  he  sat 
silent  while  Olivia  Guion  waited  till  it  seemed  good 
to  him  to  speak,  it  was  only  that  he  might  remind 
himself  of  the  advantages  of  doing  the  right  thing, 
however  hard.  He  had  tested  those  advantages 
time  and  time  again.  The  very  memories  they 
raised  were  a  rebuke  to  weakness  and  hesitation. 
If  he  ever  had  duties  he  was  inclined  to  shirk,  he 
thought  of  that  half-hour  which  had  forever  set  the 
seal  upon  his  reputation  as  a  British  soldier. 

He   thought  of  it  now.     He  saw  himself  again 
looking  up  at  the  bpstling  cliffs  that  were  to  be 
rushed,  whence  the  Afridis  were  pouring  their  deadly 
fire.     He    saw    himself    measuring    with    his    eye 
the  saddle  of  precipitous  slope  that  had  to  be  crossed, 
devoid  of  cover  and  sti^wn  with  the  bodies  of  dead 
Ghurkas.     Of  the  actual  crossing,  with  sixty  Rang- 
ers behind  him,  he  had  little  or  no  recollection.     He 
had  passed  under  the  hail  of  bullets  as  through  perils 
in  a  dream.     As  in  i  dream,  too,  he  reme.nbered  see- 
ing his  men,  when  he  turned  to  cheer  them  on,  go 
down  like  nine-pinr— throwing  up  their  arms  and 
staggering,  or  twisting  themselves  up  like  convul- 
sive cats.     It  was  grotesque  rather  than    horrible; 
lie  felt  himself  g/inning  inwardly,  as  at  something 
hellishly    comic,    when    he    reached    the    group    of 
Ghurkas  huddled  under  the  cavernous  shelter  of  the 
clifF.     Then,  just  as  he  threw  himself  on  the  ground, 
panting  like  a  spent  dog  an  !  feeling  his  body  all  over 
to  know  whether  or  not  he  had  been  wounded,  he 
saw  poor  Private  Vickerson  out  in  the  open,  thirty 
}  ards  from  the  protection  of  the  wall  of  rock.     While 

212 


■m^immf^s^^ 


Trrfi'  •-.'^■kV-'^'V'"- 


sat 


THE    STREET    CJLLED^RTP^jrijrr 

the  other  Rangers  to  a  man  were  lying  still,  on  the 
back  with  the  knees  drawn  up,  or  face  downward 
with  the  arms  outstretched,   >.  rolled  or:    he  side  as 
though  they  were  in  bed,  ^   c!  erson  wa ;  rising  on 
his  hands  and  dragging  himst."  .M-vv.rd.     It  was  one 
ot  Ashley  s  most  vivid  recollections  that  Vickerson's 
movements  were  like  a  seal's.     They  had  the  drol- 
lery of  a  bit  of  infernal  mimicry.     It  was  also  a 
vivid  recollection  that  when  he  ran  out  to  the  sol- 
dier s  aid  he  had  his  first  sensation  of  fear      The 
bullets  wnizzed  so  thick  about  him  that  he  ran  back 
again.     It   was    an    involuntary    running    back,    as 
involuntary  as  snatching  his  fingers  out  of  a  fire 
He  could  remember  standing  under  the  ro^k,  and,  as 
Vickerson  did  not  move,  half  ..oping  he  were  dead. 
Ihat  would  put  an  end  to  any  further  attempts  to 
save  him.     But  the  soldier  stirred  again,  propping 
himself  with  both  hands  and  pulling  his  body  on- 
ward .or  a  few  inches  more.     Again  Ashley  ran  out 
into  a  tempest  of  iron  and  fire  and  over  ground 
shppery   with    blood.     He   could    still    feel    himself 
hopping  back,  as  a  barefooted  boy  who  has  ventured 
no  a   snow-storm  hops   back  into   che  house.     A 
third  time  he  ran  out,  and  a  fourth.     At  the  fourth 
he  distinctly  worded  the  thought  which  had  b  en Tt 

g  thl  v'c  f  T'""S  ''''■  '^^'""'"S'  "^  ^^^' 
worrhv!  '^u'      .""  '"^'^  ^°  ''^"'sh  the  un- 

worthy suggestion,  but  it  was  too  strong  for  him 

upon  him  in'v  '  ''?  ^'^'  '^''  "?^^^"  ^y^'  °f  E"gl-"d 
upon  h  m,  inciting  him  to  such  a  valor  that  at  the 
fafth  attempt  he  dragged  in  his  man. 

213 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  came  out  of  this  reverie,  which,  after  all,  was 
brief,  to  find  the  gentle  tones  in  which  OHvia  had 
made  her  astounding  revelations  still  in  his  ears, 
while  she  herself  sat  expectant  and  resigned.     He 
knew  she  was  expectant  and  resigned  and  that  she 
had  braced  her  courage  for  the  worst.     With  many 
men,  with  most  men,  to  do  so  would  have  been  need- 
ful.    In  the  confusion  of  his  rapid  summaries  and 
calculations  it  was  a  pleasurable  thought  that  she 
should  learn  from  him,  and  through  him  and  in  him, 
that  It  was  not  so  with  all.     The  silence  which  at 
first  was  inadvertent  now  became  deliberate  as— 
while  he  noted  with  satisfaction  that  he  had  not 
overstated  to  himself  the  exquisite,  restrained  beauty 
of  her  features,  her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  hands,  and 
of  the  very  texture  and  fashion  of  her  clothing- 
he  prolonged  the  suspense  which  was  to  be  the  pre- 
lude to  his  justifying  once  again  the   lowager  coun- 
tess s  good  opinion.     It  was  to  his  credit  as  a  brave 
man  that  he  could  nerve  himself  for  this  with  his 
eyes  wide  open— wider  open  than  even  Mis.  Fane's 
—to  the  consequences  that  might  be  in  store  tor 
him. 


&, 


Kf^^ 


ti 

-S 

it 

.a. 

.if 


XIII 

W}fX   ^^^-  '^"^  .'^^''   'P''""g   of  his 
iinghsh    instinct    for    moderation,    not 

to    express     his    good     intentions    too 
directly.      He    preferred    to    let    them 
hlter   out    through   a   seemingly  casual 
Nli.u     ;^1"^""^'   °^  '^'"""S    them    for   granted 

^r  nfn  '  -T""?'  ^"  ^'^S"'^^  ^^e  fact  fhat  the 

strangeness  incidental  to  meeting  agai-     in  trvin! 

conditions  and  under  another  sky',  cfe  't^d  bet;'  en' 
himself  and  Olivia  a  kind  of  moral  distance  across 
which  they  could  draw  together  only  by  degrees 
It  was  a  comfort  to  her  that  he  did  not  try  to  bridge 
Jt   by  annhing  m   the  way  of  forced   tenderness 
He  was  willing  to  talk  over  the  situation  siZlvand 
quietly  until,  in  the  course  of  an  hour  o  Z^    the 
sense  of  separation  began  to  wear  away.  ' 

to  her  ?T"'^  .''"  i"^'  P^''^  °f  presenting  Ashley 

Iv   thn  '"^  °^"'"^  ^'"^  1""<^'^  »>-4ht  into 

play   those   social    resources    that    were   as    sprnn^ 

nature  to  all  three.     It  was  difficult  to  thinkth 

bottom  could  be  out  of  life  while  going  tl  rou,^^^^^ 

pointed      tI  \  ^^^   meticulously   well   ap- 

took  refu  J  in   .r  '^'  ''T  "^  '^'''  ^'^"^^'O"  'hfy 
refuge  m  the  topics  that  came  readiest,  the 


:.«-^'3i.vr^.7,:^it:  ""'irTTrnTTTri"irT¥ir~riwTrnriiiili  iiiMri»iiiiiii— 


1 

1  f"' 

I 


ii        B 


*l 


'  I: 

If 


11 


.1! 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGJTV 

novelty  to  Ashley  of  the  outward  aspect  of  Amer- 
ican thinj^s  keeping  them  on  safe  groiuul  till  the  meal 
was  done.  It  was  a  relief  to  both  men  that  CJuion 
coidd  make  his  indisposition  an  excuse  for  retiring 
again  to  his  room. 

It  was  a  relief  to  Olivia,  too.     For  the  first  time 
m  her  life  she  had  to  recognize  her  father  as  insup- 
portable to  any  one  but  herself  and  Peter  Davenant. 
Ashley  did  his  best  to  conceal  his  repulsion;  she  was 
sure  of  that;  he  only  betrayed  it  negatively  in   a 
tendency    to    ignore    him.     He    neither    spoke    nor 
hstened  to  hmi  any  more  than  he  could  help.     Bv 
keepmg    his    eves    on    Olivia    he    avoided    looking 
toward  him.     The  fact  that  Guion  took  this  aver- 
sion  humbly,   his  head   hanging  and   his  attention 
given  to  his  plate,  did  not  make  it   the  less  poicn- 
ant.  ^ 

All  the  same,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone  in  the 
dining-room  the  old  sense  of  intimacy,  of  belonging 
to  each  other,  suddenly  returned.  It  returned 
apropos  of  nothing  and  with  the  exchange  of  a 
glance.  There  was  a  flash  in  his  eyes,  a  look  of 
wonder  in  hers— and  he  had  taken  her,  or  she  had 
slipped,  into  his  arms. 

And  yet  when  a  little  later  he  reverted  to  the  topic 

of   the  morning  and   said,   "As  things  are  now,   I 

really  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  be  married  on 

the  28th— privately,  you  know,"  her  answer  was, 

What  did  you  think  of  papa.?" 

Though  he  raised  his  eyebrows  in  surprise  that  she 
should  introduce  the  subject,  he  managed   to  sav, 
He  seems  pretty  game." 

2l6 


sm 


iv^li 


h^ 


Wr_ 


^s^y^i' 


^^mf^^mM 


i 

I 


-:? 


I 


I 


m 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRjjrynr 

"He  does;  but  I  dare  say  he  isn't  as  game  as  he 
looks.      ]  here  s  a  good  deal  before  him  still  " 

"If  we're  married  on  the  28th  he'd  have  one  care 
the  less. 

"Because  I  should  be  taken  off  his  hands.  I'm 
afraid  that  s  not  the  way  to  look  at  it  ihe  real 
fact  IS  that  he'd  have  nobody  to  help  him  " 

"I've  two  months'  leave.  You  could  do  a  lot 
for  him  m  that  time." 

She  bent  over  her  piece  of  work.  It  was  the  sofa- 
cushion  she  had  laid  aside  on  the  day  when  she  learned 
from  Davenant  that  her  father's  troubles  were  like 
Jack  Berrington's.  They  had  come  back  for  coffee 
to  the  rustic  seat  on  the  lawn.  For  the  cups  and 
coffee  service  a  small  table  had  been  brought  our 
beside  which  she  sat.  Ashley  had  so  far  recovered 
his  sang-froid  as  to  be  able  to  enjoy  a  cigar. 

Would   you    be    very    much    hurt,"   she   asked 
without  raising  her  head,  "if  I  begged  you  to  go 
back  to  England  w-ithout  our  being  married  at  all?" 

vJh,  but  I  say! 

The  protest  was  not  over-strong.  He  was  neither 
shocked  nor  surprised.  A  well-bred  woman,  find- 
offer  him  "'  "''^  ^T^^^  ^^  ^^"'  ^-"J^  -turalt 
otter  him  some  way  of  escape  from  it. 

cated   y^"  '^u   ""'r'  °"'  "^'^'"^s  are  so  compli- 
cated  already   that   if  we   got   married   we   should 

-^totn  '"  T".-    I^^"'^  '^°  '"-^  ^«  be  done 
the  kin/TiT""'^  ^^'\  house-and  the  future-of 
Thi'       °f;h'ng  you  don't  know  anvthing  about 
They  re  sordid  things,   too,   that  you'd   be  wasted 
on  if  you  tried  to  learn  them." 

217 


Ci&M^;^«&». 


i|,.  i 


:'  r 


h  "-i  i 


!■. 


ji 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  smiied  indulgently.  "And  so  you're  asking 
me  -a  soldier!— to  run  away." 

.k'I^t"'    '"^    r'    '"^.'^"   ''•     ^''•''   -"^'"^   impossible 
that  I  can  t  face  it. 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  He  spoke  with  kindlv  im- 
patience. Don  t  you  love  me.?  You  said  just 
now— m  the  dmmg-room— when— " 

'•Yes,  I  know;  I  did  say  that.  Hut,  you  see  -  we 
must  consider  it-love  can't  be  the  most  important 
thing  in  the  world  for  either  you  or  me." 

"I  understand.  You  mean  to  say  it's  duty 
Very  good.  In  tha.  case,  my  duty  is  as  plain  as'a 
piicestatt. 

''Your  duty  to  stand  by  mc.?" 
"I  •'hould  be  a  hound  if  I  didn't  do  it  " 
"And  I  should  feel  myself  a  common  adventuress 
\i  1  were  to  let  you." 
"Oh-I  say!'"' 

His  protest  this  time  was  more  emphatic.  There 
was  even  a  pleading  note  in  it.  In  the  course  of  two 
or  three  hours  he  had  got  back  much  of  the  feeling 
he  had  had  m  England  that  she  war  more  than  an 
exquisite  lady,  that  she  was  the  other  part  of  him- 
self. It  seemed  suf, -rfluous  on  her  part  to  flini: 
open  the  way  of  retreat  for  him  too  wide 

She  smiled  at  his  exclamation.  "Yes,  I  dare  sav 
that  s  how  ,t  strikes  you.  But  it's  very  serious  to 
me.     Isn  t  it  serious  to  you,  too,  to  feel  that  vou  must 

clJ^T   '°   p'^.'~'"'^    ""^"^^   me-after   all    that's 
come  to  pass.? 

"One  doesn't  think  that  way-or  speak  that  way 
— ot  marrying  the  woman  one— adores  " 

218 


>jj^jf  ■"»»,•»-. 


^M  ^ri^^^m^ 


^^i^vas^. 


1^3^ 


un- 
just 


THE^STREET    C A L L EJl^TRjjnirr 

"Men  have  been  known  to  marry  the  women  thev 
adored,  and  still  regret  the  consequences  thev  had 
to  meet.  ^ 

"She's  right,"  he  said   to  himself. 


ous 


'It  is  scri- 


fhere  could  be  no  question  as  to  her  wisdom  in 
askmg  h.m  to  pause.     At  his  age  and  in  his  position, 
and  with  h.s  merely  normal  capacity  for  passion,  i 
would  be  absurd  to  call  the  world  well  lost  for  love 
Notwithstanding   his   zeal    to   do    the    right    thinu' 
there  was  something  due  to  himself,  and  it  was  ini- 
perative  tnat  he  should  consider  it.     Dropping  the 
stump  of  his  cigar  into  his  empty  cofFee-cup,  he  got 
up  and  strode  away.     The  emotion  of  the'minu'le, 
ar  in  excess  of  the  restrained  phrases  convention 
taught  them  to  use,  offered  an  excuse  for  his  un- 
ceremoniousness. 

He  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  lawn,   then 
down  to  the  gate,  then  round  to  the  front  ^f  the 
house.     To  a  chance  passer-by  he  was  merely  in- 
specting the  premises.     What  he  saw,  however   was 
not  the  spectacular  foliage,  nor  the  mdlow  GeorJan 
d..lling  but  himself  going  on  his  familiar  victorious 
way,  freed  from  a  dogging  scandal  that  would  make 
he  wheels  of  his  triumphal  car  drive  heavily.     He 
aw  h.mself  advancing,  as  he  had  advanced  hither! 
rL  """^  J'T"""""  '"  promotion,  from  command  to 

ThTtife    '  "y  ""'T''  ''''  ^'"-'   -^   ^hen 
with   a   wife-a   wife   who   was   not  Olivia   Guion 

misty  and  undefined;  the  road  became  dark,   the 
triumphal  car  jolted  and  fell  to  pieces;  there  was  re! 

219 


i|    llll"'      [^■mi   III  I  I  illlllll  I  11      III      II      I    ,'\iifii'uJa»ir^i3ijVSS«K9arii:i«^il«Wi^ 


•  i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

proach  in  the  air  and  discomfort  in  his  sensations. 
He  recognized  the  familiar  warnings  that  he  was  not 
domg   precisely   the   right   thing.     He   saw   Olivia 
Guion  sitting  as  he  had  left  her  four  or  five  minutes 
before,  her  head  bent  over  her  stitching.     He  saw 
her  there  deserted,  alone.     He  saw  the  eyes  of  Eng- 
and  on  him,  as  he  drove  away  in  his  triumphal  car. 
eaving  her  to  her  fate.     His  compunction  was  in' 
tense,  h.s  pity  overwhelming.     Merely  at  turning 
his  back  on  her  to  stroll  around  the  lawn  he  felt 
guilty  of  a  cowardly  abandonment.     And  he  felt 
something  else-he  felt  the  clinging  of  her  arms 
around  his  neck;  he  felt  the  throb  of  her  bosom 
against  his  own  as  she  let  herself  break  down  just 

h/d  "'uiVu'  ^""l  "  '°^-     ^'  ^^^'"^d  'o  him  that 
he  should  feel  that  throb  forever. 

He  hurried  back  to  where  he  had  left  her      "It's 
no  use      he  said  to  himself;  "I'm  in  for  it,  by  Jove 
I  simply  can't  leave  her  in  the  lurch."         '    ^  -^     ^^ 

Ihere  was  no  formal  correctness  about  Ashley's 

ablfenrci'afior  "  ''"•""'°"  ''  ^'^  "'^P'  ^^- 
henin'  i^  \"'u^'.  ^'''  ^^.^"^^roidery  rest  idly  in 
before^her  "^  "  ^''  ^^^'''^'^-     "^  "^^^ 

assZod^  ""d^^^tand."  he  asked,  with  a  roughness- 
assumed  to  conceal  his  agitation,  "that  you're 
ottering  me  my  hberty?" 

;]No;  that  I'm  asking  you  for  mine." 

On  what  grounds.?" 
She  arched  her.  eyebrows,  looking  round  about  her 

220 


1 


comprehensively      "I  should  think  that  wTd^ 
On  th  >  grounds  of— of  everything  " 

"That's  not  enough.  So  long  as  you  can't  sav 
that  you  don't-don't  care  about  me  any  more^"  ^ 
There  was  that  possibility.  It  was  very  faint 
but  If  she  made  use  of  it  he  should  conside^  it  del 
csive.  Doing  precisely  the  right  thing  would  be- 
come  quite  another  course  of  action  ff  her  heart 
rejected  hrni.     But  she  spoke  promptly.  '" 

imporSnt^'' ^^  ^'"^  '"  '  ^^"  '^^  ---^'"g  -re 

I  s"h!'n"?'^'''^  ^'■'"'^-  "^"^^^  ^^"'-^  it,  by  Jove 
I  Shan  t  give  you  up.  There's  no  reason  for  k* 
So  long  as  we  love  each  other—" 

"Our  loving  each  other  wouldn't  make  your  re 
fusa    any  the  less  hard  for  me.      As  your  wife   f 
should  be  trying  to  fill  a  position  for  which  Pm  n 
longer  quahfied  and  in  whfch  I  should  le  a  fa  ,ure  '' 

delibtZn^t  c  :idt^;kf tt'  ^"^  ""^ 
you  felt  abk  to  fill  °  '^'  P°''''°"  ^nyx}^^n^ 

She  considered  thi*:      "TK^-  • 
-llt""""''^  ■"  '''~^'"«  '''"''^"  yo"^  "rear 

be;  and  you'd  °  J;   K  f"  ""'"  '  '"'PPy'  '  ™"'<in't 
'         ^°"  ''  "'"'  be  happy  except  as  a  soldier  " 

231 


if  i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"That  trade  would  be  open  to  me  whatever 
happened." 

"In  theory,  yes;  but  in  practice,  if  you  had  a  wife 
who  was  under  a  cloud  you'd  have  tc  go  under  it, 
too.  That's  what  it  would  come  to  in  tl.a  working- 
out." 

She  stood  up  from  sheer  inability  to  continue 
sitting  still.  The  piece  of  embroidery  fell  on  the 
grass.  Ashley  smiled  at  her — a  smile  that  was  not 
wholly  forced,  because  of  the  thoughts  with  which 
she  inspired  him.  Her  poise,  her  courage,  the  some- 
thing in  her  that  would  have  been  pride  if  it  had  not 
been  nearer  to  meekness  and  which  he  had  scarcely 
called  meekness  before  he  felt  it  to  be  fortitude,  gave 
him  confidence  in  tl-'e  future.  "She's  stunning — 
by  Jove!"  It  seemf*^  to  him  that  he  saw  her  for 
the  first  time.  For  the  first  time  since  he  had  known 
her  he  was  less  the  ambitious  military  officer  seeking 
a  wife  who  would  grace  a  high  position  than  he  was  a 
man  in  love  with  a  woman.  Separating  these  two 
elements  within  himself,  he  was  able  to  value  her 
qualities,  not  as  adornments  to  some  Home  or 
Colonial  Headquarters  House,  but  as  of  supreme 
worth  for  their  own  sake.  "People  have  only  got 
to  see  her,"  he  said,  inwardly,  to  which  he  added 
aloud: 

"I  dare  say  the  cloud  may  not  be  so  threatening, 
after  all;  and  even  if  it  is,  I  should  go  under  it  with 
the  pluckiest  woman  in  the  world." 

She  acknov'-^dged  this  with  a  scarcely  visible 
smile  and  a  slight  incHnation  of  the  head.  "Thank 
you;  I'm  foolish  enough  to  like  to  hear  you  say  it. 

222 


w^^^m 


THE    STREET^CJLLED    STRAIGHT 


But  I  shouldn't  be  if 


44& 


I  think  I  am  plucky — alone, 
I  involved  anybody  else." 

!!J5,"^  '^  '^.  Y''^''""^  o"«^  w'i«  could  help  you?" 
That  m.ghr    be  different,  but  I  don't  know  of 
any  one  who   could.     Yott   couldn't.     If  you  tried 
you^d  only  injure  yourself  without  doing  me  any 

all'thV'^'  '^'''^'  ^  ''""''^  ^''^''  ^°"  """^^^  from-from 
I  "^u  l^ecause  it's  the  sort  of  thing  one  can  never 
leave  behind.  It's  gone  ahead  of  ut.  Itwillmlet 
us  at  every  turn.     You  and  I-and  papa-a  e  ^rob- 

fn  New  Yo  iT''  t"^^"'  ^"^  ^°"'P  '"  ^^^^  ^he  clubs 
n  New  York,     lo-morrow  it  will  be  the  same  thing 

m  Lo»don-at  the  club  you  call  the  Rag-and  the 
dubs-''         ^'''^^^^--^    >-"r    different    Service 

To  hide  the  renewal  of  his  dismay  he  pooh-poohed 
this  possibihty.     ''As  a  mere  nine  days'^wonder  '' 

oast  Ton '"""'  r  '^r"?  ^"'^^"  '^^  "'"^  ^^y^  are 
past  Long  after  they've  ceased  speaking  of  it 
they'll  remember—"  H^dKiii^   or    it 

I  jZd'you' '"''"''"''' '''  '"^^^^"P^^^'  fi-^'-J^' "that 
She  colored  hotly.     "That  you-what?" 

nrise'  r     T    '  ''^'    J^'  ^^''^^  ^^^^  ^s  much  a  sur- 
prise to  him  as  to  her.     He  had  never  thought  of 
his  view  of  the  case  till  she  herself  summoned  un 

%V:Tw  Y  k""'^  ^"'  ^"^-'^  discuslg'th^ 
alta.r  in  big  leather  arm-chairs  in  big,  ponderous 
rooms  in  Piccadilly  or  St.  James's  Squire  It  was 
what  they  would  say,  of  course.     It'was  wim  he 

223 


:■!) 

*  H 
if 


'^msm^^.w^^k''-:^w}^,¥iwsmmn'^^sm 


i.        =f 


i 


i  r  ('1  I 

'^      I.     i 


~^^^^IMET_CALLED_STRAWl 

himself  would  have  said  of  any  one  else      H.  I, 
a  renewed  feeling  .hat  retreat  was  cu    off       '  '' 

-it's  wha77h  ■"""■"'-i.f  I  8°  home  without  y, 
|t  s  what   II  be  on  everybody's  lips."  -^ 

«asp        "  """  '  ■"  ""'•"  'l-^  ^aid.  with  a  lit, 

,^^Hjaughed.     "That  won't  matter.     It's  how 

"Oh,  looks!" 

"It's  what  we 're  talking  about  isn'f.VJ    T.'      i. 
makes  the  difference.     I'shall  figu"   3    a  c  d  "'^ 

covery.     She  was  inexpressibly  shocked. 

tosay''butsh:s"aidt'"'V'  ""•  ^"  ^^^  ^"'^  fi- 
y   out  She  said  it  with  conviction. 

He  laughed  again.     "You'll  spp      Tk      » 

—not   my   best   fripn^c  ^  ^^^^  ^  "»  ""t 

sisters-who   won'     h  r"°'  T  "^^^^er-not  my 

Si-x£rrF-— -^^^^^^^ 

the^SrL''l'';td=' '"''  °' ''' «"«"»'  --■'' 

sh"mov*v;™  or'tr:'",  "t  ^'•'f""''  «-''-• 

head  went  h^heT  cTn '^^  T'^SI^'     't 
h«  vo,ce  trembled  with  indignatio^,Vut'she^rnf;' 

'•They  couldn't  believe  it  long." 

am4is,rws  j:r„^:jLt:  anoidirr^^^rr^""- 

a  chap  .„  our  regiment  who  ,i|trd't"!ce  giri^t  Z 


He  had 


you 


a  littk 


how 


It 


t's  what 
ad." 
ing  dis- 

ild  find 


no  one 
ot  mv 
and    I 


ve  b 


ut 


suited 


ashej 


er 


spoke 
only 


^v  me 

otten 

was 


'^,H    -  ',?  V'i 


I'i 


•  ( -III; 


if.  II 

ii.-  •  I. 


there's  no  one 


WHO    won't    relieve    BbT   T.lAT   I— THREW 
YOU   OVER " 


l\ 


'''ft 

'  'I     * 

I 

>,1 


^  f  ■ 

'  I 
I 

II 


,"  'II 


il 


!  1 


'V     . 


!?' 


^ 


■-1:1 

i 


•41 


THE    STREET   C^r.t.Kn    STRAIGHT 


Cape — sailed  for  home 


only 


before 


secretly 
rne  weaamg.       He  paused  to  1..  ner  take  in  the 
dastardly  nature  of  the  flight.     "Well,  he  rejoined 
at  the  depot.     He  stayed-but  he  didn't  stay  long 
The   Rangers  got   too   hot  for  him-or   too  cold' 

It:::)!  bX:?^  °^  "^^  '^  --  ^--^  English 
T;he  flagrancy  of  the  case  gave  her  an  advantage 

take  ;ou.'''  ''  '^''  ^•"'^  °^^^^^  ^°"'^  -^" 

"The  fate  that  can  overtake  me  easily  enough  is 

that  as  long  as  I  hve  they'll  say  I  chucked  a  gi 

because  she'd  had  bad  luck." 
She  was  about  to  reply  when  the  click  of  the  latch 

a tt  ndef  t   n"'''  '"  ^"^•'^^•°"-     ^'  ^i"-  F-^ 
attended   by  Davenant,  was    coming    up  the  hill 

Seemg  Ohv.a  and  Ashley  at  the  end  of^he  lawn 

Drusilla  deflected  her  course  across  the  grass   Dave' 

advalted-'"nei.h"'^''"'''°';'"  '^'  '^"^hed,  as  she 
lion      T    K     u   .^[  ''  ''  "^"'fi^^  curiosity  to  see  the 

en;  n.         U^""'  ^"^'  ^°"^^  ^'  ^»  if  "mother  hadn't 
sent  me  with  a  message." 

Wearing  a  large  hat  a  la  Princcsse  de  Lamballe 

Saittn^lik'  '  ^"^■'^-^l^d  -n^hade  whidrshfheM 
On      1     lY  ^^"^^"  shepherdess  holding  a  crook 

daT  Ki^  •'"  r  °'u"'"^^'  eighteenth-century 
some  poignant  bit  of  conversation,  she  proceeded  to 
t  ke  command,  stepping  up  to  OHvia  with  a  has  ^ 
^^>>s-^       Hello,  you  dear  thing!"     Turning  to  Ashley^ 

225 


),( 


Mil 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

she  surveyed  him  an  instant  before  offering  her  hand. 
"So  you  ye  got  here!  How  fit  you  look!  What  sort 
of  trip  did  you  have,  and  how  did  you  leave  your 
people  ?  And,  oh,  by  the  way,  this  is  Mr.  Davenant." 
Davenant,  who  had  been  paying  his  respects  to 
Miss  Guion,  charged  forward,  with  hand  outstretched 
and  hearty:  "Happy  to  meet  you,  Colonel.  Glad  to 
w»  'come  you  to  our  country." 
"Oh!" 

Ashley  snapped  out  the  monosyllable  in  a  dry, 
metallic  voice  pitched  higher  than  his  usual  key. 
The  English  softening  of  the  vowel  sound,  so  droll 
to  the  American  ear,  was  also  more  pronounced  than 
was  customary  in  his  speech,  so  that  the  exclamation 
became  a  sharp  "A-ow!" 

Feeling   his   greeting   to   have   been   insufficient, 
Davenant  continued,  pumping  up  a  forced  rough- 
and-ready  cordiality.     "Heard  so  much  about  you, 
Colonel,  that  you  seem  like  an  old  friend.     Hope 
you'll  like  us.     Hope  you'll  enjoy  your  stay." 
"Oh,  indeed.?    I  don't  know,  I'm  sure." 
Ashley's  glance  shifted  from  Drusilla  to  Olivia 
as  though  asking  in  some  alarm  who  was  this  exu- 
berant bumpkin   in  his   Sunday  clothes  who  had 
dropped  from  nowhere.     Davenant  drew  back;  his 
face  fell.     He  looked  like  a  big,  sensitive  dog  hurt  by 
a  rebuflF.  ^  It  was  Mrs.  Fane  who  came  to  the  rescue. 
"Peter's  come   to   see  Cousin   Henry.    They've 
got  business  to  talk  over.     And  mother  wants  to 
know  if  you  and  Colonel  Ashley  won't  come  to  din- 
ner to-morrow  evening.     That's  my  errand.    Just 
ourselves,  you  know.     It  '11  be  very  quiet." 

226 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Olivia  recovered  somewhat  from  the  agitation 
of  the  previous  half-hour  as  well  as  from  the  move- 
ment of  sudden,  inexplicable  anger  which  Ashley's 
reception  of  Davenant  had  produced  in  her.  Even 
so  she  could  speak  but  coldly,  and,  as  it  were,  from 
a  long  way  off. 

"You'll  go,"  she  said,  turning  to  Ashley,  "anrf 
1  11  come  if  I  can  leave  papa.  I'll  run  up  now  and 
see  how  he  is  and  take  Mr.  Davenant  with  me  " 


XIV 


n  .1 


HERE  was  dignity  in  the  way  in  which 
Davenant    both    withdrew   and    stood 
his  ground.      He  was  near  the  Corin- 
thian   portico   of  the   house   as   Ohvia 
approached  him.     Leaning  on  his  stick, 
L        „    J  ^e  looked    loweringly  back   at  Ashley, 
who  talked  to  Drusilla  without  noticing  him  further 
Uhvia  guessed  that  in  Davenant's  heart  there  was 
envy  tmged  with  resentment,  antipathy,  not  tem- 
pered by  a  certain  unwilling  admiration.     She  won- 
dered what  It  was  that  made  the  difference  between 
the  two  men,  that  gave  Ashley  his  very  patent  air 
ot  superiority.     It  was  a  superiority  not  in  looks 
since  Davenant  was  the  taller  and  the  handsomer' 
nor   ia    clothes,    since    Davenant    was    the    better 
dressed;  nor  m  the  moral  make-up,  since  Davenant 
had  given  proofs  of  unlimited  generosity.     But  there 
It  was,  a  tradition  of  self-assurance,  a  habit  of  com- 
mand which  in   any  company  that  knew  nothing 
about   either   would    have   made    the    Englishman 
easily  stand  first. 

Her  flash  of  anger  against  the  one  in  defense  of 
the  other  passed  away,  its  place  being  taken  by  a 
teehng  that  astonished  her  quite  as  much.  She 
tried  to  think  it  no  more  than  a  pang  of  jealousy  at 

228 


i^^tki. 


THE    STREET    CJJA^Fn_jTD^jCHT 

seeing  her  own  countryman  snubbed  by  a  foreigner 
She  was  familiar  with  the  sensation  from  her  Euro^ 
pean,  and  especially  her  English,  experiences.  At  an 
unfriendly  criticism  it  could  be  roused  on  behalf 
of  a  chance  stranger  from  Colorado  or  Cahfornia 
and  was  generally  quite  impersonal.  She  told  her- 
self that  It  was  impersonal  now,  that  she  would 
have  had  the  same  impulse  of  protection,  of  cham- 
pionship, for  any  one. 

Nevertheless,  there  was  a  tone  in  her  voice  as 
she  joined  hjn.  that  struck  a  new  note  in  their  ac- 
quaintanceship. 

"I'm  glad  you  came  when  you  did.  I  wanted 
you  to  meet  CoJonel  Ashley.  You'll  like  him  when 
you  know  him  better  Just  at  first  he  was  a  little 
embarrassed.     We'd  been  talking  of  things-" 

1  didn  t  notice  anything-that  is,  anything  dif- 
ferent from  any  other  Englishman." 

Yes;  that's  it,  isn't  it?  Meeting  an  English- 
man is  often  hke  the  first  plunge  into  a  cold  batL- 
chdhng  at  first,  but  delightful  afterward." 

He  stopped  under  the  portico,  to  say  with  a  laugh 
that  was  not  quite  spontaneous:  "Yes;  I  dare  sav 

":w^tHji;;>/kLr^^^^^^ 

and    findVn""*-  °^  """"  P^">"S  ^"^°  ^  ^°'d   bath 
again."       ^  '°   '"^   '^^'   '^">^'^^    P^PP^d  out 

chiIiy^'W'^J""^'''?f^'^   ""^"^   ^^°  ^'^   sensitive 
tliiUs.     Not  men  hke  you." 

229 


ml 


m  ^^m-i^m- 


Il< 


iili 


THE    STREET    CAU^EJ2__RT^^un^ 

They  entered   the  house,  lingering  in   the  oval 
sitting-room  through  which  they  had  to  pass. 

Fortunately,"  he  tried  to  say,  lightly,  "it  doesn't 
ma«e^r  in  this  case  whether  I'm  sensitive  to  chills 

"What"fo!'?"'''TK  ^  '^'"'•^°"  "^^  '°  ^^  f"^"^^" 
wnat    or         The  question  was  so  point-blank 

'^f?,''V^''"'f  f?',"^"''  ^"^  ^^^  ignored^hat. 

On  Colonel  Ashley's  side,  for  what  he'll  gain  in 
knowing  you;  on  yours-for  something  more  " 

the  hair^-M'^'^l"'  \  '^-    ^°°',°^  '^^  ^^^'^'^^^^  in 
thatr  ^^       ask-just  what  you  mean  by 

She  hesitated.  "It's  something  that  a  tactful 
person  wouldn't  tell.  If  I  do,  it'!  only  bedu'e  I 
want  you  to  consider  me  as-your  friend.  I  know 
you  haven't  hitherto,"  she  hurried  on,  as  he  flushed 
and  tried  to  speak.  "I  haven't  deserved  it.  Bu 
after^^whats  happened-and  after  all  you've  done 

Po?  7"'^.  ,^°"«»<Jer  you  my  friend  without  asking 

Colonel  Ashley  to  think  of  me  as  his."  ^ 

Hardly— if  I  marry  him;  and  besides-when  you 

hav7in"Tnd^°"  'l"  ^'^  ^^^^"  ^^-"'  "^^^  " 
ratre/'^eTl "       "^  "^^^  ^°"'"  ^""^^"^  ^'^~ 

it  "T!r;-^rv,-^"^°"'".  t"  ^""Shed,  "you  can  drop 
like  h^m  '.  r  K  T  ^'"^  ?  ^•^^-  I'^^  ^^-"  others 
Hnn  V  ?^'-^J^^'-  ^"d  Malta  and  Aden  and 

fln.?  tI^""^  ^^r^  ^"^  ^^^r^^^^  their  old  flag 
floats  They're  a  fine  lot.  He's  all  right  for  you- 
all  right  in  his  place.    Only,  the  place  isn't-mine" 

230 


THE    STREET    CALLED    ST R ,11  an t 


(t{ 


'Still,']  she  persisted,  "if  I  marry  him  you'd 
be  sometimes  m  England;  and  you'd  come  to  visit 
us,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Come  and— what?"     His  astonishment  made  him 
speak  slowly. 

She  took  a  step  or  two  up  the  stairway,  leaning 
on  the  banister  m  a  way  to  prevent  his  advancine 
She  was  now  looking  down  at  him,  instead  of  look- 
ing up. 

"Isn't  it  true—?"  she  said,  with  hesitation— "at 
least  I  ye  rather  guessed  it-and  I've  gathered  it 
from  things  Drusilla  has  said  about  you—  You 
see,  she  began  once  more,  "if  we're  to  be  friends 
you  mustn  t  mind  my  speaking  frankly  and  saying 
things  that  other  people  couldn't  say.  You've  in 
tervened  so  much  in  my  life  that  I  feel  you've  given 
me  a  right  to— intervene— in  yours." 

"Oh,  intervene  as  much  as  you  like.  Miss  Guion." 
ne  said,  honestly. 

"Well,  then    isn't  it  true  that  there  are  things 
you  ve  wanted -wanted   very  much -and   never 

"U  1 J  ^V^"    ^  '"^">'  Colonel  Ashley—" 
Tf  .  r°'?  ?"}•    Let's  see  what  you  mean  by— things. 
n  It  s  visiting  round  m  high  society—" 

He  tried  to  render  as  scorn  his  dismay  at  this 
touching  on  his  weakness. 

"I  don't  mean  anything  so  crude.  Visidng  round 
m  high  society,  as  you  call  it,  would  at  best  be  only 
the  outward  and  visible  sign  of  an  inward-and, 
perhaps,  spiritual-experience  of  the  worid.  Isn't 
that  what  you  ve  wanted?  You  see,  if  I  do  marry 
Colonel  Ashley,  I  could-don't  be  offended!-!  could 

231 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"You  mean  get  me  into  society  " 

^^17°"  "^f^"'^^be  so  disdainful.  I  didn't  mean 
that-exactly.  But  there  are  peoplejin  the  world 
different  from  those  you  meet  in  business-a^d  n 
tnrT.n'^'^Tr'''.\"'''"'"'"e-certainly  more  pic- 
turesque. They'd  1  e  you  if  they  knew  you-and 
I  had  an  idea  that  you-rather  craved-  After 
all,  It  s  nothmg  to  be  ashamed  of.  It's  only  making 
the  world  bigger  for  oneself,  and—"  ^ 

Backing  away  from  the  stairway,  he  stood  on  a 
rug  in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  his  head  hung  like  a 
young  bull  about  to  charge. 

"What  made  you  think  of  it?" 

for  me-''''"'  °'''''°"'-     ^^'''  ^^"'^"  ^°"^  ^°  "^^^^ 

rv^saiaTo''  ^°"^/">'^hing  for  you.  Miss  Guion. 
1  ve  said  so  a  good  many  times.  It  wouldn't  be 
nght  for  me  to  take  payment  for  what  you  don't 
^^f^,"?;^-  .  Besides,  there's  nothing  I  want." 

Ihat  IS  to  say,     she  returned,  coldly,  "you  ore- 

the  httle  I  might  be  able  to  do.     I  admit  that  it 
jsnt   much-but   it's   .o^..^/n,-something  wfthin 
my  power,   and  which   I   thought  you  mifht  like 
But  since  you  don't—"  ^ 

"It's  no  question  of  liking;  it's  one  of  admitting 
a  principle.     If  you  offer  me  a  penny  it's  Tnvzn 
payment  for  a  pound,  while  I  say,  and  say  "ga^ 
that  you  don't  owe  me  anything.     If  there'L  deb; 
at  all  ,t  s  your  father's-and  it's  not  transferable  " 

232 


■  tf--';'WW 


"Whether  it's  transferable  or  not  is  a  matter  th^ 
rests  between  my  father  and  me-and,  of  course 
Colonel  Ashley,  if  I  marry  him  "  ' 

He  looked  at  her  with  sudden  curiosity.     "Whv 
do  you  always  say  that  with—an  'if'?"  ^ 

She  reflected  an  instant.     "Because,"  she  said 
slowly,  "I  can't  say  it  in  any  other  way"  ' 

He  straightened  himself;  he  advanced  again  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairway.  ^ 

"Is  that  because  of  any  reason  of—his?" 
.  It  s  because  of  a  number  of  reasons,  one  of  which 
IS  mine.  It's  this-that  I  find  it  difficult  7ot 
away  with  one  man-when  I  have  to  turn  my  bafk 
upon  the  overwhelming  debt  I  owe  anothe7  I  do 
owe  It— 1  do.  The  more  I  try  to  ienorp  if  rK»  ^ 
It  comes  in  between  me  and-"     ^  '  '^^  "^"'^ 

He  pressed  forward,  raising  himself  on  the  first 
step  of  the  stairs,  till  his  face  was  on  a  levd  wkh 
'"n   ^XF'""  '^^  ^"^  stammered:  ^ 

him?     fL      '  ^"'°"J  you're-you're-in  love  with 

She  nodded      "Yes;  but  that  wouldn't  help  me 

leatg^blhfnd.'' '^'  ''''''  '^  ^^^^^^  '^^y~" ^^s 

He  dropped  again  to  the  level  of  the  hall      "T 

Ve  dot  r  Mr  a'  ""'  "IT.  "  ->■  tHat  wha 

ting  iarriedV'^'-  ^"'°"  ™"'''  '"''^  ^o"  f™™  e»- 

"I'm  not  prepared  to  say  that      Cnlnn^I  AoUi 

that-    But  I II  say  this  much,"  she  beean  aMin 
that  youVe  made  it  kard  for  me  to  be  married  " 

m 


I 


'  ;  H. 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"How  so?    I  thought  it  would  be  all  the  other 
way. 

A  uf^  Y°"'!'  P"^  yourself  in  my  place-or  in  Colonel 
Ashley  s  plac^-you'II  see.  Try  to  think  what  it 
means  for  two  people  like  us  to  go  away— and  be 
happy—and  live  in  a  great,  fashionable  world— and 
be  people  of  some  importance— knowing  that  some 
one  else— who  was  nothing  to  us,  as  we  were  nothing 
to  him— had  to  deprive  himself  of  practically  every- 
thing he  had  m  the  world  to  enable  us  to  do  it." 
''But  if  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  him—" 
"That  wouldn't  make  any  difference  to  us.  The 
facts  would  be  the  same." 

"Then,  as  far  as  I  see,  I've  done  more  harm  than 
good. 

"You've  helped  papa." 
"But  I  haven't  helped  you." 
''As  I  understand  it,  you  didn't  want  to." 
"I  didn't  want  to — to  do  the  reverse." 
"Perhaps  it  wouldn't  be  the  reverse  if  you  coul  1 
condescend   to  let  me  do  something  for  you      It 
would  be  the  fair  exchange  which  is  no  robber;-. 
1  hat  s  why  I  suggest  that  if  I'm  to  have  that— that 
life  over  there-you  should  profit  by  its  advantages." 
He  shook  his  head  violently.     "No,  Miss  Guion. 
Please  don  t  think  of  it.     It's  out  of  the  question. 
1  wish  you  d  let  me  say  once  for  all  that  you  owe  me 
nothing      I  shall  never  accept  anything  from  you 
— never!  ^ 

"Oh!"     It  was  the  protest  of  one  who  has  been 
hurt. 

"I'll  take  that  back,"  he  said,  instantly.     "There 

234 


^.^i 


is  something  you  can  do  for  me  and  that  I  should 
hke      Marry  your  Englishman,  Miss  Guion.  and  Jo 
^hat  you  sa,d  just  now-go  away  and  be  happt 
liyon  want  to  pve  me  a  reward,  I'll  take  that^  ^' 
.She   surveyed    h.m    a    minute    in    astonishment 
You  re  perfectly  extraordinary,"  she  said  atlast 
in  a   tone  of  exasperation,   "and  "-she    threw  at' 
h.m  a  second  Iater-"and  impossible!" 
Before  he  could  reply  she  went  grandly  up  the 

theTT  r  '^''\  ^'  ^''  ^'''•S^^  to  follow  her*^  In 
the  hall  above  she  turned  on  him  again  Had  he 
not  known  that  he  had  given  her  no  ca^ue  for  offence 
he  would  have  sa.d  that  her  eyes  filled  with  tears 

uHy.       You  needn't  go  out  of  your  way  to  make 
them  gratuitously  cruel  " 
;;But    Miss  Guion-"  he  began  to  protest. 
I  lease  go  m,"  she  commanded,  throwim?  onen 
as  she  spoke,  the  door  of  her  father's  rTm.^  ^'"* 


W'  I 


m 


XV 


<nr 


-the  one  with  the  little  white 


EANWHILE,  down  on  the  lawn,  Drusilla 
and  Ashley  were  talking  things  over 
from  their  own  points  of  view.  There 
had  been  a  second  of  embarrassment 
when  they  were  first  left  alone,  which 
Drusilla  got  over  by  pointing  with  her 
parasol  to  an  mdistinguishable  spot  in  the  stretch  of 
tree-tops,  spires,  and  gables  sloping  from  the  gate 
saying: 

"That's  our  house 
cupola." 

He  made  no  pretense  to  listen  or  to  look.  "She 
says  she  doesn't  want  to  marry  me." 

He  made  the  statement  dispassionately,  as  though 
laying  down  a  subject  for  academic  discussion 

It  was  some  little  time  before  she  could  think  wiiat 
to  say. 

"Well,  that  doesn't  surprise  me,"  she  risked  at 
last. 

"Doesn't  surprise  you?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "On  the  contrary,  I  should 
be  very  much  astonished  if  she  did-now.  I  should 
be  astonished  at  any  woman  in  her  posirion  wanring 
to  marry  a  man  in  yours." 

"I  don't  care  a  hang  for  my  posirion." 

236 


yo.  a,,d  .he  have  Jl:  fZ d-^-L^n^^leT  tl^h' 

ou  ,t  s  a  pent  of  honor  ,o  stand  by  her   with  hlr 

"  I  '''  ""«  thing  not  to  let  you  "  " 

.hat'takeTre^lLt  a'^d't'   ""'■  ""t  "'«"'-• 
be  mine."       ""'™"'  ""''  «''«  P»sit,ve  happens  to 

wL^tkl' pTiTn«"o?rr:th"  "■=■•',•  '""  '""-■ 

mon  sense."  e^c^yth■nK  else  .s-com- 

shou'i  j'rS  f:yin°g':harirsht"d"H  "■"• ""' ' 

there'd  be  a  lot  ofU^^slt  n'^tXnr """ 
On  whose  account?     Mine?"         "  ^°'"g  »f- 

tale  care  of-and  you'd  bTonelor  "?'  '*"  ""^  ^ 
,     confess  I  don't  seize  your  drift." 

Except  for  his  own  dfscomforr   L         .'"^'""'^  ^•^>'^- 

Hasn^t  escaTe'd  ^t" ,  .1^:%  "",]"'  "l'''-     ''j 

=         -  o..„-e  auld  over  his  head 
237 


•  •    i 
!.,  i 


fll 


ii 


'U 


k  (     ' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

and  being  turned  out  into  the  streets.     He  hasn't 
escaped  reaching  a  perfectly  impotent  old  age,  with 
not  a  soul  on  this  earth  to  turn  to  but  Olivia  " 
"What  about  me?" 
"Would  you  take  him?" 

"I  shouldn't  take  him  exactly.    If  he  was  my 
father-in-law"— he  made  a  little  grimace— "I  sup- 
pose I  could  pension  him  off  somewhere,  or  board  him 
out,  like  an  old  horse.   One  couldn't  have  him  round." 
"H'm!    I  dare  say  that  would  do — but  I  doubt 
It.     If  you'd  ever  been  a  daughter  you  might  feel 
that  you  couldn't  dispose  of  a  poor,  old,  broken-down 
father  quite  so  easily.     After  all,  he's  not  a  horse, 
/ou  might  more  or  less  forsake  him  when  all  was 
going  well,  and  yet  want  to  stick  to  him  through 
thick  and  thin  if  he  came  a  cropper.     Look  at  me! 
I  go  off  and  leave  my  poor  old  dad  for  a  year  and  more 
at  a  time — because  he's  a  saint;  but  if  he  wasn't— 
especially  if  he'd  got  into  any  such  scrape  as  Cousin 
Henry  s— which  is  't  thinkable— but  if  he  did— I'd 
never  leave  him  again.    That's  my  temperament. 
It  s  every  girl's  temperament.     It's  Olivia's.     But 
all  that  IS  neither  here  nor  there.     If  she  married 
you,  her  whole  life  would  be  given  up  to  trying  to 
make  you  blend  with  a  set  of  circumstances  you 
couldn  t  possibly  blend  with.     It  would  be  worse 
than  singing  one  tune  to  an  orchestra  playing  an- 
other.    She'd  go  mad  with  the  attempt." 

"Possibly;   except  for  one  factor  which  you've 
overlooked." 

"Oh,  love!     Yes,  yes.     I  thought  you'd  say  that." 
UrusiUa  tossed  her  hands  impatiently.     "Love  will 

238 


P»y  like  the  Sussex  Ran'ers     The. 'v'""     -.™^" 
age  of  faith  for  that  sort  of  Sing  "^  ™  "'"'^'^  *« 

■•,i,L  T\^'"  '"'  "'<''   ''Peking  very   slowlu 

that  the  Rangers  need  be  altogether  tTkenTnX; 

consideration  6^"'ci   caKen  into 

^:£;Ltt;:rM^;v:ronfs-''^-- 
be  wfco%u:'':.rer;tV„" '°™  *^'  ^-'o 

it?"    There  was  som  ^  ^^'^^y^.l^'ng  on  account  of 

wh.h  h„4Ch:Xero^&:;„':-  -.  - 

either  way.  The  more  I  thhik  oMt  tL  1"^ 
It  becomes.  If  I  marrv  OKvio  t  ?  ^^,  P'^'"^*" 
connection  with  a  CdL^scanda  ' ifTT^^  "u'°^ 
they'll  say  I  left  her  in  t'elurch  A^  L  th  ''  ff '" 
on  any  possible  promotion  there  mthtL  '" 

for  me,  it  would  be  six  of  one  and  hl\f     a      '"  f  °'^ 

shel.-.i„p,y  nothing  :„  chool'f"  "  «  '"  »  "•"- 
the  U™'"^"''^''  '°  «""  "'"J"''/  "P  and  down 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"I  can  quite  see  how  it  looks  from  your  point  of 
view—"  she  began. 

"No,  you  can't,"  he  interrupted,  sharply,  "be- 
cause you  lecve  out  ^he  fact  that  I  am— I  don't  mind 
saymg  it— that  is,  to  you— you've  been  such  a  good 
pal  to  me!— I  shall  never  forget  it!— but  I  am— 
head  over  heels— desperately— in  love." 

Having  already  heard  this  confession  in  what  now 
seemed  the  far-off  days  in  Southsea,  she  could  h(  ir 
It  again  with  no  more  than  a  sense  of  oppression 
about  the  heart. 

"Yes,"  she  smiled,  bravely.  "I  know  you  are 
And  between  two  ills  you  choose  the  one  that  has 
some  compensation  attached  to  it." 

"Between  two  ills,"  he  cc .rected,  "I'm  choosing 
the  only  course  open  to  a  man  of  honor.     Isn't  that 

There  was  a  wistful  inflection  on  the  query  It 
put  forth  at  one  and  the  same  time  a  request  for 
corroboration  and  a  challenge  to  a  contrary  opinion 
It  there  could  be  no  contrary  opinion,  he  would  have 
been  glad  of  some  sign  of  approval  or  applause.  He 
wanted  to  be  modest;  and  yet  it  was  a  stimulus  to 
doing  precisely  the  right  thing  to  get  a  little  praise 
tor  It,  especially  from  a  woman  like  Drusilla. 

In    this    for    once    she    disappointed    him.     "Of 
course  you  are,"  she  assented,  even  too  promprh- 
And  yet  you're  advising  me,"  he  said,  returning 
to  the  charge,  "to  make  a  bolt  for  it-and  leave 
Uhvia  to  shift  for  herself." 

"If  I  remember  rightly,  the  question  you  raised 
was  not  about  you,  but  about  her.     It  wasn't  as  to 

240 


whether  you  should  marrv  h^r    k..* 

she  should   marry  y"u    '^^'m  'no "'."  '°  '"''"''" 

point  of  view,  I'^  o'nly  /ZJ^:'^  mZT' iT 

"Indeed?    And  what  are  they'" 
She    told  them    off  on  her    fineers      "  F'    . 
a^^gentleman,  y„n  ean't  do   anyXg   els'e'.^'se:! 

.h:;sitreTre':tsTn:iv''-'''^- 

advantageous  cou^sL  Thfrd-lt°o  „'™  ""'"  *'- 
words— you're  head  ov.!-  k  7  ?  ^^°'^  >'°'"'  °«"i 
It's  easy  to  see    hat  n„  /  '  '"  '°"-''  «'«''  her. 

reasonsl  uVp'e^t  rn^i^rtiT  buT It'"  f  '""^ 
to  see  that  none  of  th*.«,  "\"^»na>  but  it  s  also  easy 
-Olivia  Gur  °te  tt';:,^, ''"^'"-e  appeal 

infItt''S;;t  m^i"  T-^f  ""•  -'^- 

nothing  else  to  consider"  '  "'"''  "'^-     ^e've 

I'veyurthS'^at-an^d'"-     ""^  '"  ="'  ">'  '^ings 
which."  she  added   tak1„T"  f  "'='">' "o-'e;  besides 

"I  suppose  she  hat'  to  mfke  tT'''-'T''  ""■^• 
»r  another  as  to  whaV  T  •        "^  ?""<'  °"«  «ay 

Davenant."  ^'  '  S°'"S  t"  do  about  Peter 

jg  '  inqjiry.       About  Peter— who?" 

241 


I\f 


^^p 


ii.    t 


..IL 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Drusilla  still  affected  a  casual  tone.  "Oh  ?  Hasn't 
she  told  you  about  him?" 

"Not  a  word.     Who  is  he?" 

She  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  house.  "He's 
up-stairs  with  Cousin  Henry." 

"The  big  fellow  who  was  here  just  now.?  That 
— lumpkin.'"' 

"Yes,"  she  said,  dryly,  "that— lumpkin.  It  was 
he  who  gave  Cousin  Henry  the  money  to  meet  his 
habilities." 

"So  he's  the  Fairy  Prince.?  He  certainly  doesn't 
look  It. 

"No;  he  doesn't  look  it;  but  he's  as  much  of  a 

problem  to  Olivia  as  if  he  did." 

I' Why.?    What  has  he  to  do  with  her.?" 
"Nothing,  except  that  I  suppose  she  must  feel 

very  gratefi^l." 

They  reached  the  edge  of  the  lawn  where  a  hedge  of 
dahlias  separated  them  from  the  neighboring  garden 

"When  you  say  that,"  he  asked,  "do  you  mean 
anything  in  particular.?" 

"I  suppose  I  mean  everything  in  particular.  The 
situation  is  one  in  which  all  the  details  count." 

I' And  the  bearing  of  this  special  detail—" 

"Oh,  don't  try  to  make  me  explain  that.  In 
the  first  place,  I  don't  know;  and  in  the  second,  I 
shouldn't  tell  you  if  I  did.  I'm  merely  giving  you 
the  facts.     I  think  you're  entitled  to  know  them:' 

So  I  should  have  said.  Are  there  many  more? 
1  ve  had  a  lot  since  I  landed.  I  thought  I  must  have 
heard  pretty  well  all  there  was—" 

"Probably  you  had,  except  just  that.     I  imagine 

242 


Olivia  fou^d  it  difficult  to  speak  of,  and  so  r„,  doing 


"Why  should  she  find  it  difficul 


-.^    .„   ^,,5   „„(,    ,j   dlHlcult    to   SDealf   r.ff 

Itsamerematterof  business,  I  suppos"""^         of? 
It  It  s  business  to  give  Cousin  h1„         l 

be  nearly  a  hundred'tro^rj  p"oS  tlZ" 'h 
money,  „,th  no  prospect  that  an/one  can  see  of  h 
rSu^^t-^^^''-'''" '^' "- -'- olVMadat 

'^^^i^'^' '°  p'=-  spates 

any'!ne'and'.!T\  "'  "'™^  ground  the  nose  off 

thTtwh^t  he's  done  S?V  """T^"^''  f""-"  -^^ 
well  clean  him  out  ^  ^°"""  "'"''^  ™"  P'«ty 

^^;^Kp:':::l'::^^^-->*withaio„y 

altruil^ic    X'^airrr  T""''  ="°«"''" 
main  chance  comes  in."  *™''  '°  '""  "''■^'»  ">e 

;;Then  what  the  deuce  is  he  up  to?" 

I'm  oi:;;^"!'":  thel  ^°"  %''■ '  -p-^  ^h" 

them  for  yourir"  "'^     ^'"'  ">""  '"'"P^" 

daMiatdtstrd'It"!;  h^'r"'"  p^''"'  =■  -"'« 

"rolled  back   low  „;   L  middT''/^?  ^^''^  ''•^>' 
Ashley  said :  "'"'^  "'^  '''^  '='»'"•    Here 

I  w"H^:''wSdn^^ur„:;u-^  ™-  ««"■-' 

243 


^ 


"^mss-^ 


^%f 


[  ) 


THE    STREET   CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"I'm  not  making  mysteries.  I'm  telling  you 
what  s  happened  just  as  it  occurred.  He  advanced 
the  money  to  Cousin  Henry,  and  that's  all  I  know 
about  It.     If  I  draw  any  inferences—" 

"Well.?" 

"I'm  just  as  likely  to  be  wrong  as  right." 
"Then  you  have  drawn  inferences?" 

"Who  wouldn't?  I  should  think  you'd  be  draw- 
mg  them  yourself." 

They  wandered  on  a  few  yards,  when  he  stopped 
agam.  Look  here,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  appeal- 
mg  roughness,  "you're  quite  straight  with  me, 
aren  t  you.? 

The  rich,  surging  color  came  swiftly  into  her  face 
as  wine  seen  through  something  dark  and  transparent! 
Her  black  eyes  shone  like  jet.  She  would  have  looked 
tragic  had  ,t  not  been  for  her  fixed,  steady  smile. 

"M^^^ i^^^*"  ^^"  anything  else  with  you?" 
INo.  You  ve  been  straight  as  a  die.  I'll  say 
that  for  you  You've  been  a  good  pal-a  devilish 
good  pall  But  over  here-in  America-every thine 
seems  to  go  by  enigmas-and  puzzles-and  sur- 
prises — 

"I'll  explain  what  I  can  to  you,"  she  said,  with  a 
heightened  color,  "but  it  won't  be  so  very  easv. 
There  are  lots  of  people  who,  feeling  as  I  do-toward 
Ulivia-and-and  toward  you-would  want  to  beat 
about  the  bush.  But  when  all  these  things  began  to 
happen-and  you  were  already  on  the  way-I 
turned  everything  over  in  my  mind  and  decided  to 
speak  exactly  as  I  think." 
"Good!" 


244 


IMJL^rREET^_CALLED_SrRMGHT 
"But  it  isn't  so  very  easy,"  she  repeated  nr, 
tendmg  to  rearrange  the  dahlia  in  her  laces,  so  as  to 
find  a  pretext  for  not  looking  him  in  the  eyes  "  t 
.snt  so  very  easy;  and  if-|ater  on-in  after  years 
perhaps-when  everything  is  long  over-Tt  ever 
strikes  you  that  I  didn't  play  fair-it  'II  L  k 
I  played  ..  fair  that  I  laid  myself  open  to  th^t'"'' 
putafon.  One  can,  you  know.  I  o"^',"  a°k  vouTo" 
remember  it.     That's  all."  ^        ° 

Ashley  was  bewildered.  He  cmiM  f«?i  r  i 
more  than  half  of  what  she  said.'  '"MoVm^er  ie"'' 
a  cXI'^xSi'"  "T""  "  ''''  ^P'"'^-  "And  uch 
re'sTy  SVnd  thr^Tod  IZ  ^°"'^ 
""G?od  bv'"T  --''i-^'-ran'-d  t:'.'.^'  ' 
had  ri^;  ,  '  ""i'  ""^'""S  her  hand  before  he 

had  nme  to  emerge  from   his  meditations      "Wo 
shall  see  you  to-morrow  eveninir     And  h,;!i. 
we  dine  at  half-past  seven.    We're  coinr^^-^r'!' 
here   and  primitive      No;  don't'c^me T 'he't:?  "^ 
OI,v,a  must  be  wondering  where  you  are  "         * 
He  looked  after  her  as  she  tripped  over  the  lawn 

pttedTn^htn^-;!^^^^ 

as  a  die,%"hnia"nd  truTa^stl  ^"'^-     "'"'^^'^ 
None  the  less  he  was  glad  when  she  left  him. 


M 


'*'L 


^ii 


m 


XVI 

pHLEY  wanted  to  be  alone.     He  needed 
Tsditude  ,n  order  to  face  the  stupendou 
bit  of  information  Mrs.  Fane  had  given 

dunn.  l'"^^''"^    ^'^^   ^^    ^^^    K 
I  h"rA    u-    P?.'  twenty-four  hours   he 

to  meet     T         u'  ^'""''^^  "^°^^  ^'^  ^^^^  competent 

he  had  wasted  no  ?•  '""'^'^  ^°  ^'^ness  that 

,        wasted  no  tinp  m  reninincr      H«.  u  j    • 

246 


the  degrading  facts  su  round^g  he^'Jeein.T'^^T 
had  seen  her  from  the  fir^h^lT  "•.''"'  •" 
touched  by  condTtions  thr^ughUicV fe"''"'  """ 
could  pass  without  some  personal  de«rioS^io7"'?: 
his  admiration  and  loyaltv  he  haH  „„,?,.     " 

feature    too    prodigious    to    find    room    there      O 
cha^nl^Xfcigalwh^hh'^L"  "'^"%'«''ting  me- 

-l^»S.tr:h^;Tind^/-E;ii 

247 


I" 


*  ,t 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

could  follow  the  whole  drama  taking  place  at  Tory- 
Hill.  Ashley  could  guess  with  tolerable  accuracy 
that  the  ladies  whom  he  saw  ostensibly  reading  or 
sewing  on  verandas  had  been  invited  to  the  wedding, 
and  were  consequently  now  in  the  position  of 
spectators  at  a  play.  The  mere  detail  of  this  Amer- 
ican way  of  living,  with  unwalled  properties  merging 
into  one  another,  and  doors  and  windows  flung 
wide  to  every  passing  glance,  gave  him  an  odd 
sense  of  conducting  his  affairs  in  the  market-place 
or  on  the  stage.  If  he  did  not  object  to  it,  it  was 
because  of  the  incitement  to  keep  up  to  the  level  of 
his  best  which  he  always  drew  from  the  knowledge 
that  other  people's  eyes  were  upon  him. 

He  felt  this  stimulus  when  Olivia  came  out  to  the 
Corinthian  portico,  seating  herself  in  a  wicker  chair, 
with  an  obvious  invitation  to  him  to  join  her. 

"Drusilla  Fane  has  been  telling  me  about  your— 
your  friend." 

She  knew  he  meant  the  last  two  words  to  be  pro- 
vocative. She  knew  it  by  slight  signs  of  nervousness 
in  his  way  of  standing  before  her,  one  foot  on  the 
grass  and  the  other  on  the  first  step  of  the  portico. 
He  betrayed  himself,  too,  in  an  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  rnake  his  intonation  casual,  as  well  as  by  puffing 
at  his  cigar  without  noticing  that  it  had  gone  out. 
An  instant's  reflection  decided  her  to  accept  his 
challenge.  As  the  subject  had  to  be  met,  the  sooner 
it  came  up  the  better. 

She  looked  at  him  mildly.  "What  did  she  say 
about  him.?" 

"Only  that  he  was  the  man  who  put  up  the  money." 

248 


THE__STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 
"Yes;  he  was." 

•'Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  this  morning?" 
I  suppose  because  there  was  so  much  else  to  say. 
We  should  have  come  round  r,  it  in  time.     I  did 
ten  you  every thmg  but  his  name." 
"And  the  circumstances." 
•'How  do  you  mean— the  circumstances?" 
I  got  the  impression  from  you  this  morning  that 
It  was  some  millionaire  J  hnny  who'd  come  to  your 
father  s  aid  by  advancing  the  sum  in  the  ordinary 
way  of  business.     I  didn't  understand  that  it  was  a 
comparatively  poor  chap  who  was  cleaning  himself 
out  to  come  to  yours." 

In  wording  his  phrase  he  purposely  went  be- 
yond the  warrant,  in  order  to  rouse  her  to  de- 
nial, or  perhaps  to  indignation.  But  she  said 
only: 

ii?L^  ^'■"^'"^  ">"  '^  was  to  come  to  my  aid?" 
She  didn't  say  it-exactly.     I  gathered  that  it 
was  what  she  thought." 

She  astonished  him  by  saying,  simply:  "I  think 
so,  too. 

"  Extraordinary !  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  dropped 
out  of  a  clear  sky?"  *^*^ 

"I  must  answer  that  by  both  a  yes  and  a  no. 
He  did  drop  out  of  a  clear  sky  just  lately;  but  I'd 
known  him  before." 

"Ah!"  His  tone  was  that  of  a  cross-examiner 
dragging  the  truth  from  an  unwilling  witness.  He 
put  his  questions  rapidly  and  sharply,  as  though  at  a 
court-martial.  "So  you'd  known  him  before!  Did 
Vou  know  him  well?" 

249 


i 


p 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"I  didn't  think  it  was  well;  but  apparently  he 
did,  because  he  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

Ashley  bounded.     "Who.?    That— that  cowboy!" 

"Yes;  if  he  is  a  cowboy." 

"And  you  took  money  from  him.?" 

Her  elbows  rested  on  the  arm  of  her  chair;  the  tip 
of  her  chin  on  the  back  of  her  bent  fingers.  Without 
taking  her  eyes  from  his  she  inclined  her  head  slowly 
in  assent. 

"That  is,"  he  hastened  to  say,  in  some  compunc- 
tion, "your  father  took  it.  We  must  keep  the  dis- 
tinction— " 

"No;  I  took  it.  Papa  was  all  ready  to  decline  it. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind — " 

"Do  you  mean  that  the  decision  to  accept  it 
rested  with  you?" 

"Practically." 

"You  didn't—"  He  hesitated,  stammered,  and 
grew  red.  "  You  didn't—"  he  began  again.  "  You'll 
have  to  excuse  the  question.  ...  I  simply  must 
know,  by  Jove! .  .  .  You  didn't  ask  him  for  it.?" 

She  rose  with  dignity.  "If  you'll  come  in  I'll  tell 
you  about  it.     We  can't  talk  out  here." 

He  came  up  the  portico  steps  to  the  level  on  which 
she  was  standing.  "Tell  me  that  first,"  he  begged. 
"You  didnt  ask  him  for  it?     Did  you?" 

In  the  French  window,  as  she  was  about  to  enter 
the  room,  she  half  turned  round.  "I  don't  think 
it  would  bear  that  construction;  but  it  might. 
I'd  rather  you  judged  for  yourself.  I  declined  it 
at  first— and  then  I  said  I'd  take  it.  I  don't  know 
whether  you'd  call  that  asking.    But  please  come  in." 

250 


L  !^,-. 


I  !"- 


id  now 

'    :i    '        - 
■-TV    ■••I., 

'   on   !.ci 


IS- 


THE    STREET    C AU^EJ^^TRirryrn^ 

He  followed  her  into  the  oval  room,  where  they 
were  screened  from  neighborly  observation,  while 
with  the  French  window  open,  they  had  the  ad- 
vantage  of  the   air   and    the   rich,   wes    ring   sun 
shine.     Birds  hopped  about  in  the  t 
and  then  a  gray  squirrel  darted  act)' 

"I  should  think,"  he  said,  nervr. 
had  time  to  begin  her  explanation 
who   had   done    that   for  you   v.      -.■ 
mind  to  the  exclusion  of  everybod     ^ 

Guessing  that  he  hoped  for       '], 
part,  she  was  sorry  to  be  unable  to  •  , 

"Not   to   their   exclusion— but   pei 
to  their  subordination." 

He   pretended   to   laugh.     "What   a    pretty   di 
tinction! 

"You  se. .  I  haven't  been  able  to  help  it.     H'-'s 
loomed  up  so  tremendouslr  above  everything—" 

"And  every  one." 
^^  "Yes,"  she  admitted,  with  apologetic  frankness, 
and  every  one— that  is,  in  the  past  few  days— that 
It  s^  as  if  I  couldn't  see  anything  but  him." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  jealous,"  he  exclaimed,  pacing  ud 
and  down  the  length  of  the  room. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  agreed,  seating  herself  in  one 
of  the  straight-backed  chairs.  Her  clasped  hands 
rested  on  the  small  round  table  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  while  she  looked  out  across  the  lawn  to  the 
dahlias  and  zinnias  on  its  farther  edge. 

Ashley,  who  had  flung  his  panama  on  a  sofa,  con- 
tinued to  pace  up  and  down  the  room,  his  head  bent 
and  his  fingers  clasped  rightly  under  his  jacket  bc- 

251 


I 


i^aaf^iy,.^--ri#gs:^^:ag^-iiai?.(kMiiijggi 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

hind  his  back.  He  moved  jerkily,  like  a  man 
preserving  outward  self-control  in  spite  of  extreme 
nervous  tension. 

He  listened  almost  without  interruption  while 
she  gave  him  a  precise  account  of  Davenant's  in- 
tervention in  her  father's  troubles.  She  spared  no 
detail  of  her  own  opposition  and  eventual  capitula- 
tion. She  spoke  simply  and  easily,  as  though  re- 
peating something  learned  by  heart,  just  as  she  had 
narrated  the  story  of  Guion's  defaulting  in  the  morn- 
ing. Apart  from  the  fact  that  she  toyed  with  a 
paper-knife  lying  on  the  table,  she  sat  rigidly  still, 
her  eyes  never  wandering  from  the  line  of  autumn 
flowers  on  the  far  side  of  the  lawn. 
^^  "So  you  see,"  she  concluded,  in  her  quiet  voice, 
"I  came  to  understand  that  it  was  a  choice  between 
taking  it  from  him  and  taking  it  from  the  poor  women 
papa  had  ruined;  and  I  thought  that  as  he  was 
young— and  strong— and  a  man— he'd  be  better 
able  to  bear  if.     That  was  the  reason." 

He  came  to  a  standstill  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  where  he  could  see  hei  in  profile. 
^^  '/You're  extraordinary,  by  Jove!"  he  muttered. 
"You're  not  a  bit  like  what  you  look.  You  look  so 
fragile  and  tender;  and  yet  you  could  have  let  that 
old  man — " 

"I  could  only  have  done  it  if  it  was  right.     Noth- 
ing that's  right  is  very  hard,  you  know." 

"And  what  about  the  suffering?" 
^^  She^  half  smiled,  faintly  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
"Don't  you  think  we  make  more  of  suffering  than 
there's  any  need  for?    Sufl^ering  is  nothing  much 

252 


THE    STREET    CALLED^RT^jn^r 

except,  I  suppose,  the  suffering  that  comes  from 
want.  That  s  tragic.  But  physical  pain-and  the 
thmgs  we  call  tnals-are  nothing  so  terrible  if  you 
know  the  right  way  to  bear  them." 

The  abstract  question  didn't  interest  him.     He 
resumed  his  restless  pacing. 

"So,"  he  began  again,  in  his  tone  of  conducting 
a  court-martial-"  so  you  refused  the  money  in  the 
hrst  place,  because  you  thought  the  fellow  was  try- 
ing to  get  you  into  his  power.     Have  you  had  any 
reason  to  change  your  opinion  since?" 
"None,  except  that  he  makes  no  effort  to  do  it  " 
He  stopped   again   beside   the   table.     "And   do 
you  suppose  he  would }    When  you've  prepared  your 
ambush  cleverly  enough  you  don't  have  to  go  out 
and  drag  your  vicrim  into  it.     You've  only  to  lie 
still  and  he'll  walk  in  of  his  own  accord." 
Of  course  I  see  that." 
"Well,  what  then?" 

She  threw  him  a  glance  over  her  shoulder.  To  do 
so  It  was  necessary  for  her  to  turn  her  head  both 
sidewise  and  upward,  so  that  he  got  the  exquisite  lines 
of  the  neck  and  profile,  the  mysterious  gray-green 
tint  of  the  eyes,  and  the  coppery  gleam  of  her  hair, 

Ihe  appeal  to  his  senses  and  to  something  beyond 

his  senses  made  him  gasp.     It  made  him  tremble. 

My  God    what  a  wife  for  mer  he  was  saying  to 

aXtn  ^''%'  ^%V^'-  P^"^^  °^  ^  JeannJd'Arc 
• 'W^i     J^         Chrisrian  martyr." 
Well    then,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  his  words— 

I  want  to.'"  '  '°  '"""' '"'°  '^^  anibush-unless 

253 


v\ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Does  that  mean  that  there  are  conceivable 
conditions  in  which  you  might  want  to?" 

She  turned  completely  round  in  her  chair.  Both 
hands,  with  fingers  interlaced,  rested  on  the  table 
as  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"I  shall  have  to  let  you  find  your  own  reply  to 
that." 

"  But  you  know  he's  in  love  with  you." 

"I  know  he  was  in  love  witw  me  once,  I've  no 
absolute  reason  to  think  that  he  is  so  still." 

"But  supposing  he  was.?  Would  it  make  any  dif- 
ference to  you.?" 

"Would  it  make  any  difference  to  you?*' 

"It  would  make  the  difference — " 

He  stopped  in  confusion.  While  he  was  not  clear 
as  to  what  he  was  going  to  say,  he  was  startled  by 
the  possibilities  before  him.  The  one  thing  plain 
was  that  her  question,  simple  as  it  seemed,  gave  an 
entirely  new  turn  to  the  conversation.  It  called 
on  him  to  take  the  lead,  and  put  him,  neatly  and  skil- 
fully, in  the  one  place  of  all  others  which— had  he 
descried  it  in  advance— he  would  have  been  eager  to 
avoid.  Would  it  make  any  difference  to  him? 
What  difference  could  it  make?  What  difference 
must  it  make? 

It  was  one  of  thc-^e  moments  which  occur  from 
time  to  time  when  a  man  of  honor  must  speak  first 
and  reflect  afterward— just  as  at  the  heights  of 
Uargal  he  had  had  to  risk  his  life  for  Private  Vickcr- 
son's,  with(  it  debating  as  to  which  of  them,  in  the 
general  economy  of  lives,  could  the  more  easily  be 
spared. 

254 


ii@P 


^^i^^^^I^^^M^^^^M^S^^^^^^^^WmZ. 


"lfeP5?^l!  ■ 


"It  would  make  the  difference-—" 

He  stopped  again      It  was  a  great  deal  to  say. 

Once  he  had  said  it  there  could  be  no  reconsideration 

Reconsideration  would  be  worse  than  not  saving  it 

at  all,  on  the  principle  that  not  to  stand  by  one's 

guns  might  be  a  greater  cowardice  than  not  to  mount 

them.     Fear,  destruction,  and  the  pit  might  come 

upon    him;    the    service,    the     country,    Heneage, 

home,   honors,   ambitions,   promotions,   high   posts 

of  command,  all  might  be  swept  into  the  abyss,  and 

yet  one  imperative  duty  would  survive  the  wreck 

the  duty  to  be  Rupert  Ashley  at  his  finest.     The 

eyes  of  England  were  on  him.     There  was  always  that 

conviction,  that  incentive.     Let  his  heroism  be  never 

so^secret,  sooner  or  later  those  eyes  would  find  him 

He  was  silent  so  long  that  she  asked,  not  im- 
patient.y:    It  would  make  what  difference,  Rupert?" 

It  was  clear  that  she  had  no  idea  as  to  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind.     There  had  been  an  instanT- 

doubt'.d  k"'''"k ~u°   more-when    he    had    almost 
doubted  her,  when  her  strategy  in  putting  him  where 

tr' V.i''''"'^  r  ^^^^  ^«  ^'  '^'^  ^-«"'t  of  chance 
-lut,  with  her  pure  face  turned  upward  and  her  hon- 
est eyes  on  his,  that  suspicion  couldn't  last 
It  would  make  the  difference—" 
If  he   paused    again,   it   was    only    because    his 
hroat  swelled  with  a  choking  sensation  that  made 
It  difficult  to  speak;  he  felt,  too,  that  his  face  was 
loTrit     Nevertheless  the  space,  which  was  not 
onger  than  a  few  seconds  by  the  clock,  gave  him 
time  to  remember  that  as  his  mother's  and   his 

255 


i     Ji' 

-   Hi 


■-IW^^ 


wtirm 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

sisters'  incomes  were  inalienable  he  was  by  so  much 
the  more  free.  He  was  by  so  much  the  more  free 
to  do  the  mad,  romantic,  quixotic  thing,  which 
might  seem  to  be  a  contradiction  of  his  past,  but 
was  not  so  much  a  contradiction  of  himself  as  people 
who  knew  him  imperfectly  might  suppose.  He  was 
taken  to  be  ambitious,  calculating,  shrewd;  when  all 
the  while  he  knew  him^ielf  to  be— as  most  English- 
men are  at  heart— quixotic,  romantic,  and  even  a 
little  mad,  when  madness  can  be  subHme. 

He  was  able  at  last  to  get  his  sentence  out. 

"It  would  make  the  difference  that  .  .  .  before  we 
are  married  ...  or  after  .  .  .  probably  after  ...  I 
should  have  to  square  him." 

"Square  him.?"  She  echoed  the  words  as  though 
she  had  no  idea  what  they  meant. 

"I'm  worth  ...  I  must  be  worth  ...  a  hundred 
thousand  pounds  .  .  .  perhaps  more." 

"Oh,  you  mean,  square  him  in  that  way." 

"I  must  be  a  man  of  honor  before  everything, 
by  Jove!" 

"You  couldn't  be  anything  else.  You  don't 
need  to  go  to  extremes  Hke  that  to  prove  it." 

Her  lack  of  emotion,  of  glad  enthusiasm,  chilled 
him.  She  even  ceased  to  look  at  him,  turning  her 
profile  toward  him  and  gazing  again  abstractedly 
across  the  lawn.  A  sudden  fear  took  hold  of  him, 
the  fear  that  his  hesitations,  his  evident  difficulty  in 
getting  the  thing  out,  had  enabled  her  to  follow  the 
processes  by  which  he  whipped  himself  up  to  an  act 
that  should  have  been  spontaneous.  He  had  a 
suspicion,  too,  that  in  this  respect  he  had  fallen 


English  id.„™.    The  S^h't  ?ha  t  X^t^l^:. 
done  as  well  was  rather  sickening.     If  he  had  so 

To  counteract  it  he  Wt  the  need  rf^h      "  '^'"• 

te;i'n:f n^tr^'-cariTa'-r^t  r"i;:tT 

t  .ngs  for  your  father  any  „ore  than  for'n,i' "e   by 

^f:^t^tr-H'^tl!:r:[ttr:rJ}?^^^^^ 

who  means  to  stay  and  take  possession        °      """ 
_  Uh,  but  I  m  not  your  wife,  Rupert." 
Vou  re  my  wife  already,"  he  declared    ",„     n 

S  :„"",  "-P"--    We've    puM-hed'ou°i:" 
ttntion   to   become   man   and  wife    to    the  world 
Neither  of  us  can  go  back  on  that.     The  merrfa« 
econd""'"  T^'  ''^^'™''  l'''^"  ■""■"bled  oTer  us  " 
rr/o^hustUIT^'-^  '""  co„s..tutes^;:ty 

thew^orld'  T''^  "°%    ^°"'''  '•'^  "»'''«'  man  in 
could  h  ''",'•,    '  "^^"  '*'^=""ed   that   there 

-Uouldi;"'-""'  '■''  ''"■     "^^  I  -"'''"•'  let  you 
^":^^ttt'^!\i^'""^lii  '"-^  -n.  leaning 


■ou  only  knew  h 


across  the  tabh 


'01 


ow 


17 


easy  it  is- 
257 


■h  my  darling,  if 


1  »• 

{  ( 


!'i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"No,  it  isn't  easy.  It  can't  be  easy.  I  couldn't 
let  you  do  it  for  me — " 

"But  what  about  him?    You  \et—him!" 

"Oh,  but  that's  different." 

"How  is  it  different?" 

"I  don't  know,  Rupert;  but  it  is.  Or  rather," 
she  went  on,  rapidly,  "I  do  know,  but  I  can't  ex- 
plain. If  you  were  an  American  you'd  understand 
it." 

"Oh,  American— be  blowed!"  The  accent  was 
all  tenderness,  the  protest  all  beseeching. 

"I  (  n't  explain  it,"  she  hurried  on,  "because  you 
don't  nderstand  us.  It's  one  of  the  ways  in  which 
^iishman  never  can  understand  us.  But  the 
s  that  money  doesn't  mean  as  much  to  us  as 
to  you.  I  know  you  think  the  contrary,  but 
here  you  make  your  primary  mistake.  It's 
me  and  light  go  with  most  of  us,  for  the  sim- 
1  th.  t  money  is  outside  our  real  life;  where- 
/ou  ^  nglish  it's  the  warp  and  woof  of  it." 
"Oh,   bos=      darling!" 

"N(.,   r  bosh.     In  your  civilization  it's  as  the 

blood;   n\     mrs   it's  only   as   the  clothing.     That's 
something  iike  the  difference.     In  accepting  it  from 
Peter   Davenant— which    is   hard   enough!— I    take 
only  what  he  can  do  without;  whereas — " 
"I  can  do  without  it,  too." 

"Whereas,"  she  persisted,  "if  I  were  to  let  you 
do  this  I  should  be  robbing  you  of  the  essence  of 
what  you  are." 

He  drew  back  slightly.  "You  mean  that  your 
Yankee  is  a  strong  man,  while  I'm — " 


an  F 

it 

th  it'.-^ 
lirnt  c 

ic  rt 
is  wit 


11 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"I  don't  mean  anything  invidious  or  unkind. 
But  isn  t  It  self-evident,  or  nearly,  that  we're  in- 
dividuals, while  you're  parts  of  an  intricate  social 
system?  The  minute  you  fall  out  of  your  place  in 
the  system  you  come  to  grief;  but  vicissitudes  don't 
attect  us  much  more  than  a  change  of  coats  " 
^^  I  don't  care  a  button  for  my  place  in  the  system." 

But  1  do.  I  care  for  it /or  you.  I  should  have 
married  you  and  shared  it  if  I  could.  But  I'd  rather 
not  marry  you  than  that  you  should  lose  it." 

1  hat  IS,"  he  said,  coldly,  "you'd  rather  use  his 
money  than — 

She  withdrew  her  hands,  her  brows  contracting 
and  her  eyes  clouding  in  her  effort  to  make  him  un- 
derstand the  position  from  her  point  of  view  "  You 
see,  it  s  this  way  For  one  thing,  we've  taken  the 
money  already.  That's  past.  We  may  have  taken 
It  temporarily,  or  for  good  and  all,  as  things  turn 
out;  but  m  any  case  it's  done.  And  yet  even  if  it 
weren  t  done  it  would  be  easier  for  us  to  draw  on 
him  rather  than  on  you,  because  he's  one  of  our- 
selves. 

"One  of  yourselves.?     I  thought  that's  just  what 
he  wasn  t.     I  thought  he  was  a  jolly  outsider." 

Vou  niean  socially.  But  that  again  hasn't 
much  significance  in  a  country  where  socially  we're 
all  ol  one  class.  Where  there's  only  one  class  there 
cant  be  any  outsiders." 

"Oh,   that's  all   very  fine.      But    look   at  you— 
with  your  extremes  of  rich  and  poor!" 

Ihat's  the  most  superficial  difference  among 
u^-     Its   the   easiest   possible   thing   to   transcend 

259 


.^: 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

I'm  transcending  it  now  in  feeling  that  I've  a  right- 
yes,  a  kind  of  right— to  take  Peter  Davenant's  money, 
because  as  Americans  we've  a  claim  on  each  other." 
He  threw  himself  against  the  straight  back  of  the 
chair,  his  arms  flung  out  with  a  gestuie  that  brought 
his  hands  nearly  to  the  floor.     "You're  the  last  peo- 
ple in  the  world  to  feel  anything  of  the  kind.     Every 
one  knows  that  you're  a  set  of  ruthless,  predatory—" 
I  know  that's  the  way  it  seems;  and  I'm  not  de- 
fending anything  that  may  be  wrong.     And  yet, 
m  spite  of  all  appearances  to  the  contrary,  we  have 
a  sense  of  brotherhood— I   don't  know  any  other 
name  for  it— among  ourselves  which  isn't  to  be  found 
anywhere  else  in  the  world.     You  English  haven't 
got  It.     That's  why  the  thing  I'm  saying  seems  mere 
sentiment  to  you,  and  even  mawkish.     You're   so 
afraid  of  sentiment.     But  it's  true.     It  may  be  only 
a  rudimentary  sense  of  brotherhood;  and  it's  cer- 
tainly not  universal,  as  it  ought  to  be,  because  we 
I   J  »t  only  among  ourselves.     We  don't  really  in- 
clude the  foreigner-not  at  least  till  he  becomes  one 
ot  us.     1  m  an  instance  of  that  limitation  myself, 
because  I  can  t  feel  it  toward  you,  and  I  do— " 

You  do  feel  it  toward  the  big  chap,"  he  said, 
scornfully.  ' 

She   made   a   renewed   eff-ort   to  explain  herself. 

You  see,  it  s  something  like  this.  If  my  aunt  de 
Melcourt,  who  s  very  well  ofl^,  were  to  come  forward 
and  help  us,  I  d  let  her  do  it  without  scruple.  Not 
that  there  s  any  particular  reason  why  she  should! 
But  if  she  did-well,  you  can  se  .■  for  yourself  that  it 
wouldn  t  be  a:;  if  she  were  a 

260 


St. 


nger. 


WM^W^yW^MM^M. 


THE    STREET    CALLED    SiTRAiniTT 

all'SIt''"""^''  ^*'^''  °"^  °^  ^°"'"  °'^"  P^ople-and 
"Well  he's  one  of  our  own  people— Mr.  Dave- 
nant.  Not  to  the  degree  that  she  is-but  the  same 
sort  of  thing— even  if  more  distant.  It's  verv  dis- 
tant, I  admit—"  ' 

His  lip  curled.     "So  distant  as   to  be  out' of 
sight. 

"No;  not  for  him — or  for  me." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Look  here,  Olivia,"  he 
cried,  nervously  holding  his  chair  by  the  back, 
jhat  does  It  all  mean.?    What  are  you  leading  up 

"I'm  telling  you  as  plainly  as  I  can  " 
.     'What  you  aren't  telling  me  as  plainly  as  you  can 
IS  which  of  us  you're  in  love  with  " 

She  colored.  It  was  one  of  those  blushes  that 
spread  up  the  temples  and  over  the  brows  and  along 
dawn   ^  ^'^^  ^^^  splendor  of  a  stormy 

"I  didn't  know  the  question  had  been  raised," 
she  said,     but  since  apparently  it  has—" 

It  might  have  been  contrition  for  a  foolish  speech, 
or  fear  of  what  she  was  going  to  say,  that  prompted 
nim  to  interrupt  her  hurriedly: 

.u^  H^IT,  P^'"^""-  ^^  ^^'^  '^'ot'c  of  me  to  say 
that.  1  didn  t  mean  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm 
jumpy  I  m  not  master  of  myself.  So  much  has 
been  happening—" 

He  came  round  the  table,  and,  snatching  one  of 
her  hand:.,  he  kissed  it  again  and  again.  He  even 
■sank  on  one  knee  beside  her,  holding  her  close  to 

261 


Ni- 


Ill 

IH 

1 1 

11 

it 

THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGTJT 

him.    With  the  hand  that  remained  free  she  stroked 
his  cnsp,  wavy,  iron-gray  hair  as  a  sign  of  pardon 
^      You  re  quite  wrong  about  me,"  he  persisted. 

Lven  if  youre  right  about  other  Englishmen- 
which  I  don  t  admit— you're  wrong  about  me,  by 
Jove!  It  1  had  to  give  up  everything  I  had  in  the 
world  I  should  have  all  the  compensation  a  man 
could  desire  if  I  got  you." 

She  leaned  over  him,  pressing  his  head  against 
ner  breast,  as  she  whispered: 

"You  couldn't  get  me  that  way.  You  must  un- 
derstand-! must  make  it  as  plain  to  you  as  I  can 
—that  1  couldn  t  go  to  you  except  as  an  equal. 
1  couldn  t  go  to  any  man—" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.     "But  you  came  to  me  as 

f.V^."^''„    ^^    ^"^f    •"    tones    of   exasperation. 
Ihats  all  over  and  done  with.     It's  too  late  to 
reconsider  the  step  we've  taken— too  late  for  me— 
much  too  late!— and  equally  too  late  for  you  " 

I  can  t  admit  that,  Rupert.     I've  still  the  right 
to  draw  back. 

"The   legal    right— yes;   whether   or   not  you've 

hono^"'  "^""'"^  '^^''^"'^   °"   ^°"'"   '^"'^  °^ 

"Of  honor.?" 

"Certainly.  There's  an  honor  for  you  as  well  as 
tor  me.  When  I  m  so  true  to  you  it  wouldn't  be  the 
square  thing  to  play  me  false." 

She  rose  without  haste.  "Do  vou  call  that  a  fair 
way  of  putting  it-to  say  that  I  play  you  false  be- 
cause 1  refuse  to  involve  you  in  our  family  disasters? 
1  don  t  think  any  one  could  blame  me  for  that." 

262 


*»?i.T^HS 


THE    STREET   CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"^yhat  they  could  blame  you  for  is  this  — for 
backing  out  of  what  is  practically  a  marriage,  and 
for  deserting  me  in  a  way  that  will  make  it  seem  as 
if  I  had  deserted  you.  Quite  apart  from  the  fact 
that  ife  won  t  be  worth  anything  to  me  without  you, 
It  will  mean  ruin  as  a  man  of  honor  if  I  go  home  alone 
Every  one  will  szy— every  on^— that  I  funked  the 
thing  because  your  father — " 

She  hastened  to  speak.  "That's  a  very  urgent 
reason.     I  admit  its  force — " 

She  paused  because  there  was  a  sound  of  voices 
overhead.  Footsteps  came  along  the  upper  hall 
and  began  to  descend  the  stairs.  Presently  Dave- 
nant  could  be  heard  saying; 

•'Then  I  shall  tell  Harrington  that  they  may  as 
well  foreclose  at  one  time  as  another." 

"Just  as  well."  Guion's  reply  came  from  the 
direction  of  his  bedroom  door.  "I  see  nothing  to 
be  gained  by  waiting.  The  sooner  it's  over  the 
sooner  to  sleep,  what?" 

"They're  talking  about  the  mortgage  on  the  prop- 
erty, she  explained,  as  Davenant  continued  to 
descend.  "This  house  is  to  be  sold— and  every- 
thing  in  it — " 

"Which  is  one  more  reason  why  we  should  be 
married  without  delay.  I  say,"  he  added,  in  another 
tone,  "let's  have  him  in." 

"Oh  no!     What  for.?" 

Before  she  could  object  further,  Ashley  had  slipped 
out  mto  the  hall.     "I  say!    Come  along  in." 

His  attitude  as  he  stood  with  hands  thrust  into 
his  jacket  pockets  and  shoulders  squared  bespoke 

263 


aspfs^^irgx^ 


k  _.  vr**--^'^;'i.    iTi^ 


MICUOCOPY   RESOIUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


ki  1 2.8 
lu    13.2 


116 

1 4.0 


"•"2.5 
2.2 

1.8 


^  APPLIED  IIVMGE 

IB*.^  '653   East    Mam   SIreel 

S"^  Rochester.    New   York         M609       USA 

•^—  (716)   482  -  0300  -  Phone 

^S  (716)    288  -  5989  -  Fax 


I   ' 


THE    STREET    C J LI^D^^TR^nffT 

conscious  superiority  to  the  man  whom  he  was  ad- 
dressmg.  Though  Davenant  was  not  in  her  line  of 
vision  she  could  divine  his  astonishment  at  this  easy, 
English  unceremoniousness,  as  well  as  his  resent- 
ment to  the  tone  of  command.  She  heard  him  mut- 
tering an  excuse  which  Ashley  interrupted  with  his 
ofFhand  "Oh,  come  in.  Miss  Guion  would  like  to 
see  you." 

She  felt  it  her  duty  to  go  forward  a  .d  second  this 
invitation.  Davenant,  who  was  standing  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase,  murmured  something  about 
town  and   business. 

"It's  too  late  for  town  and  business  at  this  hour  " 
Ashley  objected.     "Come  in." 

He  withdrew  toward  the  room  where  Olivia  was 
standing    between    the    portieres    of   the    doorway 
Davenant  yielded,  partly  because  of  his  ignorance 
of  the  small  arts  of  graceful  refusal,  but  more  be- 
cause of  his  curiosity  concerning  the   man   Olivia 
Cjuion  was  to  marry.     He  had  some  interest,  too, 
in  observing  one  who  was  chosen  where   he   him- 
self had  been  rejected.     It  would  afford  an  answer 
to  the  question,  "What  lack  I  vet.?"  with  which  he 
was  tormented  at  all  times,     th-     it  could  not  be 
a  flattering  answer  was  plain  to  him  from  the  care- 
less, indefinable  graces  of  Ashley's  style.     It  was  a 
style  that  Davenant  would  have  scorned  to  imitate 
but  which  nevertheless  he  envied.     In  contrast  witii 
Its  unstudied  ease  he  could  feel  his  own  social  meth- 
ods to  be  labored  and  apologetic.     Where  he  was 
watchful  to  do  the  right  thing,  what  Ashley  said  or 
did  became  the  right  thing  because  he  said  or  did  it. 

264 


TJil.lIMAI_CAU,ED_JTRAIGH  T 

With  the  echo  of  soft  English  vowels  and  cle 


crisp 


vowel 
consonants  in  his  ears,  his  own  pronunciations,  too 
were  rough  with  the  harshness  transmitted  from  an 
ancestry  to  whom  the  melody  of  speech  had  been  of  no 
more  practical  concern  than  the  music  of  the  sphereT 
.  Somethmg  of  all  this  Olivia  guessed.  She  guessed 
n  with  a  feeling  of  being  on  his  side-on  the  Amer  can 
side-which  a  month  ago  would  have  astonish  d 
her.     She  guessed,   too,   on   Davenant's   part,    that 

he  Old'w"l?'"^T^''^^^  '^'  "'-  assumptions  o 
the  Old  World  are  hkely  to  create  when  in  contac 

w. Ji  the  aggressive  unpretentiousness  of  the  New 

and  if  need  were  she  was  ready  to  stand   by  him' 

All  she  could  say,  however,  for  the  moment  was: 

for  tYa°"  '  '^''  '"     '""•     ^'^'"'^^P^  ^  ^"g'^^  '-  ring 
She  made  the  latter  remark  from  habit.     It  was 
what  she  was  accustomed  to  think  of  when  on  an 
autumn  day  the  sun  went  behind  the  distant  rim 

oval  room,  as  it  was  gathering  now.  If  she  did  not 
ring  It  was  because  of  her  sense  of  the  irony  of  offer- 
ing hospita  ity  in  a  house  where  not  even  a  cup  of 
tea  was  paid  for.  *    ^ 

She  seated  herself  beside  the  round  table  in  the 

■nward    to     he    room    instead    of  outward    to    the 

portico.     Ashley  backed  to  the  curving  wall  of  the 

oom    while   Davenant  scarcely  advanced    beyond 

terremin'ddl"   ^"   ^'T   ^^"^"'   approach\he 
iatter  reminded  her  somewhat  of  a  big  St    Bernard 

dog  responding  to  the  summons  of  a  kopard 

26; 


.;?! 


i'H      y 

1*1    m 

'■^i.    m 

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if 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Been  up  to  see — ?"  Ashley  nodded  in  the 
direction  of  what  he  took  to  be  Guion's  room. 

Davenant,  too,  nodded,  but  said  nothing. 

"How  did  you  find  papa  to-day?" 

"Pretty  fair,  Miss  Guion;  only,  perhaps,  a  little 
more  down  on  his  luck  than  usual." 

"The  excitement  kept  him  up  at  first.  Now  that 
that's  over — " 

Ashley  interrupted  her,  addressing  himself  to 
Davenant.  "I  understand  that  it's  to  you  we  owe 
Mr.  Guion's  relief  from  the  most  pressing  part  of  his 
cares." 

Davenant's  face  clouded.  It  was  the  thing  he  was 
afraid  of — Ashley's  intrusion  into  the  little  domain 
of  helpfulness  which  for  a  few  days  he  had  made  his 
own.     He  answered  warily: 

"My  business  with  Mr.  Guion,  Colonel,  has  been 
private.     I  hope  you  won't  mind  if  we  leave  it  so," 

Ashley's  manner  took  on  the  diplomatic  per- 
suasiveness he  used  toward  restive  barbaric  po- 
tentates. 

"Not  a  bit,  my  dear  fellow.  Of  course  it's  private 
— only  not  as  regard.  Miss  Guion  and  me.  You 
simply  must  allow  us  to  say  how  grateful  we  are  for 
your  help,  even  though  it  need  be  no  more  than 
temporary." 

The  word  produced  its  effect.  Davenant  looked 
from  Ashley  to  Olivia  while  he  echoed  it.  "Tem- 
porary .''" 

Ashley  nodded  again.  "You  have  no  objection, 
I  presume,  to  that.?" 

"If  Mr.  Guion  is  ever  in  a  position  to  pay  me 

266 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

back,"  Davenant  said,  slowly,  in  some  bewilderment, 
"of  course  I'll  take  it." 

"Quite  so;  and  I  think  I  may  say  that  with  a 
little  time— let  us  say  a  year— we  shall  be  able  to 
meet — " 

"It's  a  good  bit  of  money,"  Davenant  warned 
him. 

"I  know  that;  but  if  you'll  give  us  a  little  leeway 
— as  I  know  you  will — " 

"He  means/'  Olivia  spoke  up,  "that  he'll  sell  his 
property— and  whatever  else  he  has— and  pay  you." 

*|I  don't  want  that,"  Davenant  said,  hastily. 

"But  I  do.  It's  a  point  of  honor  with  me  not  to 
let  another  man  shoulder — " 

''And  it's  a  point  of  honor  with  me,  Rupert — " 

"To  stand  by  me,"  he  broke  in,  quickly. 

"I  can't  see  it  that  way.  What  you  propose  is 
entirely  against  my  judgment.  It's  fantastic;  it's 
unreal.  I  want  you  to  understand  that  if  you  at- 
tempted to  carry  it  out  I  shouldn't  marry  you. 
Whatever  the  consequences  either  to  you  or  to  me 
— /  shouldn't  marry  you." 

"And  if  I  didn't  attempt  it.?  Would  you  marry 
me  then.?" 

She  looked  up,  then  down,  then  at  Davenant, 
then  away  from  him.  Finally  she  fi.xed  her  gaze  on 
Ashley. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last.     "If  you'll  promise  to 
let  this  wild  project  drop,  I'll  marrv  you  whenever 
you  like.     I'll  waive  all  the  other  difficulties—" 
Davenant  came  forward,  his  hand  outstretched. 
1  think  I  must  say  good-by  now,  Miss  Guion — " 

267 


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5J1?!' 


r//£    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"No;  wait,"  Ashley  commanded.     "This  matter 
concerns  you,  by  Jove!"; 

Olivia    sprang    to    her    feet.     "No;    it    doesn't, 
Rupert,"  she  said,  hastily. 

"No;  it  doesn't,"  Davenant  repeated  after  her. 
"It's  nor  my  affair.  I  decHne  to  be  brought  into 
it.  I  think  I  must  say  good-by  now,  Miss  Guion— " 
^^  "Listen,  will  you!"  Ashley  said,  impatiently. 
"I'm  not  going  to  say  anything  either  of  you  need  be 
afraid  of.  I'm  only  asking  you  to  do  mt  the  justice 
of  trying  to  see  things  from  my  point  of  view.  You 
may  think  it  forced  or  artificial  or  anything  you 
please;  but  unfortunately,  as  an  officer  and  a  gentle- 
man, I've  got  to  take  it.  The  position  you'd  put 
me  in  would  be  this — of  playing  a  game — and  a  jolly 
important  game  at  that— in  which  the  loser  loses 
to  me  on  purpose." 

Ashley  found   much   satisfaction   in   this  way  of 
putting  it.     Without  exposing  him  to  the  necessity 
of  giving  details,  it  made  clear  his  perception  of 
what  was  going  on.     Moreover,  it  secured  him  I,- 
beau  role,  which  for  a  few  minutes  he  feared  he  might 
have  compromised.     In  the  look  he  caught,  as  it 
flashed  between  Olivia  and  Davenant,  he  saw  tht 
signs  of  that  appreciation  he  found  it  so  hard  to  do 
without — the  appreciation  of  Rupert  Ashley  as  the 
chivalrous  Christian  gentleman,  at  once  punctilious 
and  daring,  who  would  count  all  things  as  loss  in 
order  to  achieve  the  highest  type  of  manhood.     If 
in  the  back  of  his  mind  he  had  the  conviction,  hardl\- 
venturing  to  make  itself  a  thought,  "In   the  lon^^ 
run  it  pays,"'  it  was  but  little  to  his  discredit,  since 

268 


«5\V 


I  ; 


lIl^lIMALSdJ^l^^STRJJGIIT 

he  could  scarcely  have  descended  from  a  hne  of 
shrewd  far-sighted  Anglo-Saxon  forefathers  with- 
out  making  some  sucli  computation. 

"If  we're  going  to  play  a  game,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressmg  Davenant,  before  the  latter  had  time  to 
speak,  "for  Heaven's  sake  let  us  plav  it  straight- 
hke  men.  Let  the  wmner  win  and  the  loser  lose—" 
1  ve  no  objection  to  that.  Colonel,  when  I  do 
play — but  at  present — " 

"Look  here,"  Ashley  said,  with  a  new  inspira- 
tion; 1  put  It  to  you— I  put  it  to  you  as  a  man- 
simply  as  a  mfl«— without  anv  highfalutin  prin- 
ciples whatever.  Suppose  I'd  done  what  you've 
done— and  given  my  bottom  dollar—" 
"But  I  haven't." 

"Well  no  matter!  Suppose  I  had  done  what 
youve  done— and  you  were  in  my  place— would 
you,  as  a  man— simply  as  a  man,  mind  you— be 
willing  to  go  off  with  the  lady  whom  /  had  freed  from 
great  anxiety— to  say  the  least— and  be  happv  for- 
ev-er  after— and  so  forth— with  nothing  but  a 
Ihank-you-sir.^     Come  now!     Would  you.^" 

It  was  evident  that  Davenant  was  shy  of  accept- 
ing this  challenge.  He  colored  and  looked  uneasy 
—all  the  more  so  because  Olivia  lifted  her  eyes  to 
him  appealingly,  as  though  begging  him  to  come 
to  her  support.  It  was  perhaps  in  the  belief  that  he 
would  do  so  that  she  said,  earnestly,  leaning  forward 
a  litJe: 

j^Tell  him,  Mr.  Davenant,  tell  him." 
"I   don't  see  what  it's  got  to  do  with   me-" 
Uavenant  began  to  protest, 

269 


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THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"It's  got  everything  to  do  with  you,"  Ashley  broke 
in.  "Since  you've  created  the  situation  you  can't 
shirk  its  responsibiHties." 

"Tell  him,  Mr.  Davenant,  tell  him,"  OHvia  re- 
peated.    "Would  you,  or  wouH  you  not?" 

He  looked  helplessly  from  one  to  the  other. 
"Well,  then — I  wouldn't,"  he  said,  simply. 

"There  you  are!"  Ashley  cried,  triumphantly, 
moving  away  from  the  wall  and  turning  toward 
Olivia. 

She  was  plainly  disappointed.  Davenant  could 
so  easily  have  said,  "I  would."  Nevertheless,  she 
answered  quietly,  picking  up  the  paper-knife  that 
lay  on  the  table  and  turning  it  this  way  and  that  as 
though  studying  the  tints  of  the  mother-of-pearl 
in  the  dying  Hght: 

"It  doesn't  matter  to  me,  Rupert,  what  other 
people  would  do  or  would  not  do.  If  you  persist  in 
this  attempt — this  mad  attempt — I  shall  not  marry 
you." 

He  strode  to  the  table,  looking  down  at  her  averted 
face  and  bent  head. 

"Then  we're  at  a  deadlock." 

She  gave  him  a  quick  glance.  "No;  it  isn't  a 
deadlock,  because — because  there's  still  a  way  out." 

He  leaned  above  her,  supporting  himself  with  his 
hand  on  the  table.  "And  it's  a  way  I  shall  never 
take  so  long  as  you  can't  say — what  you  admitted 
a  little  while  ago  that  you  couldn't  say — " 

"I  can't  say  it,"  she  murmured,  her  face  still 
further  averted;  "but  all  the  same  it's  cruel  of  you 
to  make  it  a  condition." 

270 


re- 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  bent  lower  till  his  lips  almost  touched  her  hair. 
"It's  cruel  of  you,"  he  whispered,  "to  put  me  in  the 
position  where  I  must." 

The  room  and  the  hall  behind  it  were  now  so  dim 
that  Davenant  had  no  difficulty  in  slipping  between 
the  portieres  and  getting  away. 


i:'l 


lii 


^1 

m 


-'-i-m 

1 


•l- 


f  i 
m 
-m 


i 


XVII 


M    i- 


I   1 


=  J 


jE'S  going  to  squeeze  me  out." 

This  was  Davenant's  reflection  as  he 
walked  back,  along  the  Embankment, 
to  Rodney  Temple's  house.  He  made 
it  bitterly,  in  the  light  of  clarified  views, 
las  to  the  ethics  of  giving  and  taking 
benefits.  Up  to  within  the  last  few  days  the  sub- 
ject had  seemed  to  him  a  relatively  simple  one.  If 
you  had  money,  and  wished  to  give  it  awa}-,  you  gave 
it.  If  you  needed  it,  and  were  so  lucky  as  to  have 
it  oflfered  you,  you  took  it.  That  was  all.  That 
such  natural  proceedings  should  create  complicated 
relations  and  searchings  of  heart  never  entered  his 
mind. 

He  could  see  that  they  might,  however,  now  that 
the  knowledge  was  forced  upon  him.  Enlighten- 
ment came  by  the  easy  process  of  putting  himself 
in  Ashley's  place.  "I  wouldn't  take  my  wife  as  a 
kind  of  free  gift  from  another  fellow— I'll  be  hanged 
if  I  would!     I'd  marry  her  on  my  own  or  not  at  all." 

And  unless  Ashley  assumed  the  responsibilities 
of  his  future  wife's  position,  he  couldn't  marry  her 
"on  his  own."  That  much  was  clear.  It  was  also 
the  most  proper  thing  in  the  world.  It  was  a  right 
—a  privilege.     He  looked  upon  it  chiefly  as  a  privi- 


^■7 'J 


TJIA    ^TREEJUl^iLLED    STRAIGHT 

IcK*'.  Ashley  would  sell  his  estate,  and,  having  paid 
him,  Davenant,  the  money  he  had  advanced,  would 
send  him  about  his  business.  There  would  be  noth- 
ing left  for  him  but  to  disappear.  The  minute  there 
was  no  need  for  him  there  would  be  no  place  for  him 
He  had  been  no  more  than  the  man  who  holds  a 
horse  till  the  owner  comes  and  rides  awa\'. 

Worse  than  that  reflection  was  the  fear  that  his 
intervention  had  been  uncalled  for  in  the  hrst  place. 
The  belief  that  it  was  imperative  had  been  his  sole 
excuse  for  forcing  himself  on  people  who  fought 
against  his  aid  and  professed  themselves  able  to  get 
along  without  it.  But  the  event  seemed  to  show  that 
if  he  had  let  things  alone,  Rupert  Ashley  would  have 
come  and  taken  the  burden  on  himself.  As  he  was 
apparently  able  to  shoulder  it,  it  would  have  been 
better  to  let  him  do  it.  In  that  cast  he,  Peter  Dave- 
nant, would  not  have  found  himself  in  a  position 
from  which  he  could  not  withdraw,  while  it  was 
a  humiliation  to  be  dislodged  from  it. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  would  have  missed 
his  most  wonderful  experience.  There  was  that 
side  to  It,  too.  He  would  not  have  had  these  mo- 
ments face  to  face  with  Olivia  Guion  which  were  to 
be  as  food  for  his  sustenance  all  the  rest  of  his  life. 
During  these  davs  of  discussion,  of  argument,  of 
conflict  between  his  will  and  hers,  he  had  the  entirely 
conscious  sense  that  he  was  laving  up  the  treasure 
on  which  his  heart  would  live  as  long  as  it  continued 
to  beat.  The  fact  that  she  found  nitercourse  with 
him  more  or  less  distasteful  became  a  secondarv 
matter.     To  be  in  her  presence  was  the  thing  es- 


i  S' 


<fi         !| 


-I 

i 


13 


•/J 


"^T'-  i!j  ^sy^ 


"i  «  i 


Mi 


1: 


ir  ? 


r;. / A /, ED  S7yi ^^ici/r 

sential,  whatever  the  Rrounds  on  which  he  was  ad- 
mitted there.  In  this  way  he  could  store  up  her 
looks,  her  words,  her  gestures,  against  the  time  whin 
the  memory  of  them  would  he  all  he  should  have. 
As  for  her  proposals  of  friendship  made  to  him  ihar 
day— her  suggestions  of  visits  to  be  paid  to  Ashk\ 
and  herself,  with  introductions  to  a  greater  world 
—he  swept  them  aside.  He  quite  understood  that 
she  was  offering  him  the  two  mites  that  make  a 
farthing  ou  of  he  penury  of  her  resources,  and, 
while  he  was  touched  by  the  attempt  to  pay  him,' 
he  didn't  want  them. 

He  had  said,  and  said  again,  that  he  didn't  want 
anything  at  all.  Neither  did  he.  It  would  have 
been  enough  for  him  to  go  on  as  he  was  going  now- 
f^  fetch  and  carry,  to  meet  lawyers  and  pacify 
creditors,  to  protect  her  father  because  he  zcas 
her  father,  and  get  a  glimpse  of  her  or  a  word  from 
her  when  he  came  on  his  errands  to  Tory  Hill. 
There  were  analogies  between  his  devotion  and  the 
adoration  of  a  mortal  for  a  goddess  beyond  the  stars. 
Like  Hippolytus,  he  would  have  been  content  that 
his  Artem's  should  never  step  down  from  her  shrine 
so  long  as  he  was  permitted  to  lay  his  gifts  on  her 
altar. 

At  least,  he  had  felt  so  till  to-day.  He  had  begun 
the  adventure  in  the  strength  of  the  desire  born  of 
his  visit  to  the  scene  of  his  father's  work  at  Hankow 
to  do  a  little  good.  True,  it  was  an  impulse  of  which 
he  was  more  than  half  ashamed.  Its  mere  formula- 
tion in  words  rendered  it  bumptious  and  presump- 
tuous.    Beyond    the    confession    made    to    Rodney 

274 


M 


'\  .1 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Temple  on  the  night  of  his  arrival  no  force  could  have 
induced   him   to   avow  it.     Better  any   imputation 
of  craft   than   the   suspicion   of  wanting   to   confer 
benefits  on  his  fellow-men.     It  was  a  satisfaction  to 
him  to  be  able  to  say,  even  in  his  own  inner  con- 
sciousness, that  the  desperate  state  of  Guion's  affairs 
forced  his  hand  and  compelled   him   to  a  quixotic 
course  which  he  would  not  otherwise  have  taken 
The  first  glimpse  of  Ashley  brought  this  verbal 
shelter  to  the  dust.     So  long  as  the  accepted  lover 
had  been  but  an  abstract  conception  Davenant  had 
been  able  to  think  of  him  with  toleration.     But  in 
presence  of  the  actual  man  the  feeling  of  antagonism 
was  instinctive,  animal,  instantaneous.     Though  he 
pumped  up  his  phrases  of  welcome  to  a  heartiness 
he  did  not  f  el,  he  was  already  saying  to  himself 
that   his    brief  day   of   romance  was  done.     "He's 
going  to  squeeze  me  out."     With  this  alert  and  ca- 
pable soldier  on   the  spot,  there  would  be  no  need 
for  a  clumsy  interloper  any  longer.     Thev  could  do 
without  him,  and  would  be  glad  to  see  him  go. 

The  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  he  must  retire.  It 
was  not  only  the  part  of  tact,  but  a  gentleman  could 
do  no  less.  Ashley  had  all  the  rights  and  powers. 
1  he  effort  to  withstand  him  would  be  worse  than 
ineffectual,  it  would  be  graceless.  In  iMiss  Guion's 
eyes  It  would  be  a  blunder  even  more  unpardonable 
than  that  for  which  her  punishment  had  been  in 
some  wa3-s  the  ruling  factor  in  his  life.  He  was  sure 
she  would  not  so  punish  him  again,  but  her  disdain 
would  not  be  needed.  Merely  to  be  de  trop  in  her 
sight,  merely  to  be  troublesome,  would  be  a  chastise- 

275 


n . 


1 

1     J  ~ 


'  1 


p 
■  \ 


f*' .,  * 


'.n 


i  V 


^  i 


"iUl 


n 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

ment  from  which  he  should  suffer  all  the  stings  of 
shame.  If  he  was  to  go  on  serving  her  with  the  dis- 
interestedness of  which,  to  himself  at  any  rate,  he 
had  made  a  boast,  if  he  was  to  keep  the  kindly  feel- 
ing she  had  perhaps  begun  to  entertain  for  him,  he 
must  resign  his  provisional  authority  into  Ashley's 
hands  and  efface  himself. 

To  do  that  would  be  easy.  He  had  only  to  ad- 
vance by  a  few  weeks  his  departure  for  Stoughton, 
Michigan,  where  he  meant  ♦  return  in  any  case. 
It  was  the  famiHar  field  of  those  opportunities  in 
copper  which  he  hoped  to  profit  by  again.  Once  he 
was  on  that  ground,  Olivia  Guion  and  her  concerns 
would  be  as  much  a  part  oi  a  magic  past  as  the 
woods  and  mountains  of  a  holiday  are  to  a  man  nailed 
down  at  an  office  desk.  With  a  very  little  explana- 
tion  to  Ashley  he  could  turn  his  b?ck  on  the  whole 
business  and  give  himself  up  to  his  own  affairs. 

He  made  ai.  effort  to  recapture  his  zest  in  the  old 
game,  but  after  the  passionate  interest  he  had  put 

a"/\  P^'^  "^^^^  ^^^  ^""  w^s  out  of  it.  Stoughton, 
Michigan,  presented  itself  as  a  ramshackled,  filthv 
wooden  town  of  bar-rooms,  eating-rooms,  pool- 
rooms, and  unspeakable  hotels.  The  joys  and  ex- 
citements he  had  known  over  such  deals  as  the  buy- 
ing and  selling  of  the  Catapult,  the  Peppermint,  and 
the  Ltna  mines  were  as  flat  now  as  the  lees  of 
yesternight's  feast.  "I'm  not  in  love  with  her,"  he 
kept  saying,  doggedly,  to  himself;  and  yet  the 
thought  of  leaving  Olivia  Guion  and  her  interests  to 
this  intrusive  stran4,er,  merely  because  he  was  sup- 
posed to  have  a  prior  claim,  was  sickening.     It  was 

276 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

more  sickening  still  that  the  Englishman  should  not 
only  be  disposed  to  take  up  all  the  responsibilities 
Davenant  would  be  laying  do\,n,  but  seemed  com- 
petent to  do  it. 

On  the  embankment  he  met  Rodney  Temple, 
taking  the  air  after  his  day  in  the  Gallery  of  Fine 
Arts.  He  walked  slowly,  with  a  stoop,  his  hands 
behmd  him.  Now  and  then  he  paused  to  enjoy  the 
last  tints  of  pink  and  purple  and  dusky  saffron 
mirrored  in  the  reaches  of  the  river  or  to  watch  the 
swing  of  some  college  crew  and  the  swan-like  move- 
ment of  their  long,  frail  shell. 

"Hello!  Where  are  you  off  to.?  Home.?" 
Davenant  had  not  yet  raised  this  question  with 
himself,  but  now  that  it  was  before  him  he  saw  it 
was  worth  considering.  Home,  for  the  present, 
meant  Drusilla  and  Mrs.  Temple,  with  their  intui- 
tions and  speculations,  their  hints  and  sympathies. 
He  scarcely  knew  which  he  dreaded  most,  the  old 
lady's  inquisitive  tenderness  or  Drusilla's  unsparing 
perspicacity. 

^^  "Not  home  just  yet,  sir,"  he  had  the  wit  to  say. 
"In  fact,  I'm  walking  in  to  Boston,  and  may  not  be 
home  to  dinner.  Perhaps  you'll  tell  Mrs.  Temple 
so  when  you  go  in.  Then  I  sha'n't  have  to  'phone 
her." 

Temple  let  that  pass.     "  Been  up  to  look  at  the 
great  man.?" 
•     Peter  nodded.     "Just  come  from  there." 

"And  what  do  you.  make  of  him.?" 

"Oh,  he's  a  decent  sort." 

"Not  going  to  back  out,  cli.?" 

-71 


'II   f: 


M 


'f 


■  !•  f. 


Ill 

4 
(■if 

IP 

m 


r?  y: 


.»*l 


S'  ' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Not  at  all;  just  the  other  way:  he  wants  to  step 
in  and  take  everything  off— ofFour  hands." 

"You  don't  say  so.  Then  he's  what  you  say— a 
decent  sort." 

"He's  more  than  that,"  Davenant  heard  himself 
saymg,  to  his  own  surprise.  "He's  a  fine  specimen 
of  his  type,  and  the  type  itself—" 

"Is  superb,"  the  old  man  concluded.  "That's 
about  what  I  supposed  he'd  be.  You  could  hardly 
imagine  Olivia  Guion  picking  out  any  other  kind 
—especially  as  it's  a  kind  that's  as  thick  as  black- 
berries in  their  army." 

Davenant  corroborated  this  by  a  brief  account 
of  what  Ashley  proposed  to  do.  Light  gleamed  in 
the  old  man  s  eyes  and  a  smile  broke  the  shagg;- 
crevice  between  his  beard  and  mustache  as  he  lis- 
tened. 

"Splendid!  Splendid!"  he  commented,  now  at 
one  point  and  now  at  another  of  the  information 
Feter  was  imparting.  "Sell  his  estate  and  pay  up' 
Ihats  downright  sporting,  isn't  it.?  ' 

"Oh,  he's  sporting  enough." 

"And  what  a  grand  thing  for  you  to  get  your 
money  back.  I  thought  you  would  some  day-if 
Vic  de  Melcourt  ever  came  to  hear  of  what  you'd 
done;  but  I  didn't  expect  it  so  soon." 

Davenant  turned  away.     "I  wasn't  in  a  hurrv  " 
No;  but  he  ,s.     That's  the  point.     That's  where 
the  beauty  of  it  comes  in  for  Olivia  and  you  " 

Peter  looked  blank.     "Olivia  and— w^.?" 

"He's  doing  right,"  the  old  man  explained,  tak- 
ing hold  of  the  lapel  of  Davenant's  coat,  "or  what  he 

278 


i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

conceives  to  be  right;  and  no  one  man  can  do  that 
without  putting  us  into  a  better  position  all  round. 
Doing  right,"  he  continued,  emphasizing  his  words 
by  shaking  the  lapel  and  hammering  on  Peter's 
breast— "doing  right  is  the  solution  of  all  the  dif- 
ficulties into  which  we  get  ourselves  tied  up  by  shilly- 
shallying and  doing  wrong.  If  Ashley  were  to  hang 
fire  you  wouldn't  know  where  the  devil  you  were. 
But  now  that  he'i  going  straight,  it  leaves  you  free 
to  do  the  same." 

"It  leaves  me  free  to  cut  and  run."  He  made 
little  effort  to  conceal  his  bitterness. 

"Then  cut  and  run,  if  that's  what  you  feel  im- 
pelled to  do.  You  won't  run  far  before  you  see 
you're  running  to  a  purpose.  I'll  cut  and  run, 
too  he  added,  cheerfully.  "I'll  be  off  to  see  Olivia, 
and  tell  her  she's  made  a  catch." 

Davenant  was  glad  to  be  able  to  resume  his  tramp. 
Poor  old  chap,"  he  said  to  himself;  "a  lot  he  knows 
about  it!     It's  damned  easy  to  do  right  when  you've 
got  everything  your  own  way." 

Having  everything  his  own  way  was  the  happy 
position  in  which  he  placed  Rupert  Ashley,  seeing 
he  was  able  to  marry  Olivia  Guion  by  the  simple 
process  of  selling  an  estate.  There  was  no  more 
to  that  in  Davenant's  estimation  than  to  his  own 
light  parting  with  his  stocks  and  bonds.  Whatever 
sacrifice  the  act  might  entail  would  have  ample 
compensation,  since  the  giving  up  of  the  temporal 
and  non-essential  would  secure  supreme  and  ever- 
lasting bliss.  He  would  gladly  have  spared  a  hand 
or  an  eye  for  a  mere  chance  at  the  same  reward. 

279 


H 


^m^.mym::''m 


V, 


V 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Arrived  in  Boston  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do 
but  to  eat  an  expensive  dinner  at  a  restaurant  and 
go  back  again,     i.     did  not  return  on  foot.     He 
had  had  enough  of  his  own   thoughts.     They  led 
him  round  and  round  in  a  circle  without  end.     He 
was  ashamed,  too,  to  perceive  that  thev  concerned 
tliemselves    chiefly,    not   with    his    love'  for   Olivia 
Guion,  but  with  hij  enmity  to  Rupert  Ashley.     It 
was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  was  ever  pos- 
sessed by  the  fury  to  kill  a  man.     He  wouldn't  have 
been  satisfied  to  be  rid  of  Ashley;  he  wanted  to  leap 
on  him,  to  strike  him,  to  choke  him,  to  beat  him 
to  death.     Sitting  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  table- 
cloth, from  which  the  waiter  had  removed  everv- 
I  thing  but  the  finger-bowl  and  the  bill,  and  allowing 
the  cigar  that  protruded  between  his  knuckles  to 
l3urn   uselessly,  he   had   already   indulged   in   these 
imaginary  exercises,  not  a  little  to  his  relief,  before 
he  shook  himself  and  muttered:  "I'm  a  damned 
fool. 

The  repetition  of  this  statement,  together  with  the 
dull  belief  that  repetition  engenders,  braced  him  at 
last  to  paying  his  bill  and  taking  the  tram-car  to 
Waverton.     He  had   formed  a   resolution.     It  was 
still  early,  scarcely  later  than  the  hour  at  which  he 
usually  dined.     He  had  a  long  evening  before  him 
He  would  put  It  to  use  by  packing  his  belongings. 
Ihen  he  would  disappear.     He   might  go  at  once 
to  Stoughton,  or  he  might  travel  no  farther  than  the 
rooms  he  had  engaged,  and  which  he  had  occupied 
I5.;°^"\^''3'ears,  on  the  less  attractive  slope  of  Beacon 
Hill.     It  would  be  all  the  same.      He  would  be  out 

280 


"W^^^^^^^U 


^Tr.^»;^^^^'.- 


**^ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

of  the  circle  of  interests  that  centered  round  Olivia 
Guion,  and  so  free  to  come  back  to  his  senses. 

He  got  so  much  elation  out  of  this  resolve  that 
from  the  electric  car  to  Rodney  Temple's  house  he 
walked  with  a  svi^inging  stride,  whistling  tunelessly 
beneath  his  breath.  He  tried  to  think  he  was  de- 
livered from  an  extraordinary  obsession  and  re- 
stored to  health  and  sanity.  He  planned  to  initi- 
ate Ashley  as  the  new  charge  d'affaires  without 
the  necessity  on  his  part  of  seeing  Miss  Guion 
again. 

And  yet,  when  he  opened  the  door  with  his  latch- 
key and  saw  a  note  lying  on  the  table  in  the  hall, 
his  heart  bounded  as  though  it  meant  to  stop  beat- 
ing. It  was  sheer  premonition  that  made  him  think 
the  letter  was  for  him.  He  stooped  and  read  the 
address  before  he  had  taken  off  his  hat  and  while 
he  was  still  tugging  at  his  gloves: 

Peter  Davenant,  Esq., 
31  Charlesbank. 

It  was  premonition  again  that  told  him  the  con- 
tents before  he  had  read  a  line: 

Dear  Mr.  Davenant,— If  you  are  quite  free  this 
evening,  could  you  look  in  on  me  again?  Don't  come 
unless  you  have  really  nothing  else  to  do.    Yours  sincerely, 

Olivia  Guion. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  only  half-past 
eiirht.  "I've  no  excuse  for  not  going,"  he  said  to 
himself.     He  made  it  clear  to  his  heart  that  he  re- 

281 


It 


■•«  1-1       !i 


f     '' 


■  ;  r 


-  r^ 


^^M^'^' 


I    f  I  til  i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

gretted  the  necessity.  After  the  brave  decisions  to 
which  he  had  come,  decisions  which  he  might  have 
put  mto  execution,  it  was  a  call  backward,  a  retro- 
gression. He  began  already  to  be  afraid  that  he 
might  not  be  so  resolute  a  second  time.  But  he 
had  no  excuse  for  net  going.  That  fact  took  tlio 
matter  out  of  his  hands.  There  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  crumple  the  letter  into  his  pocket,  take  down 
his  evening  overcoat  from  its  peg,  and  leave  the 
house  before  any  one  knew  he  had  entered. 

The  night  was  mild.  It  was  so  soft  and  scented 
that  It  might  have  been  in  June.  From  the  stars  and 
the  street-lamps  and  the  line  of  electrics  along  the 
water  s  edge  there  was  just  light  enough  to  show  the 
surface  of  the  river,  dim  and  metallic,  and  the  wisps 
ot  vapor  hovering  above  the  marshes.  In  the  east 
toward  Cambridge  and  beyond  Boston,  the  sky  w:is 
bright  with  the  simulation  of  the  dawn  that  pre- 
cedes the  moonrise. 

His  heart  was  curiously  heavy.  If  he  walked 
rapidly  it  was  none  the  less  reluctantly.  For  the 
hrst  time  since  he  had  taken  part  and  lot  in  the  mat- 
ter in  hand  he  had  no  confidence  in  himself  He 
had  ceased  to  be  able  to  say,  "I'm  not  in  love  wit!, 
her,  while  he  had  no  other  strengthening  formula 
to  put  in  Its  place. 

Algonquin  Avenue,  which  older  residents  still 
called  Rodney  Lane,  was  as  still  and  deserted  as  i 
country  road.  The  entry  gate  to  Tory  Hill  clicked 
behind  him  with  curious,  lonely  loudness.  The 
gravel  crunched  in  the  same  way  beneath  his  tread 
Looking  up  at  the  house,  he  saw  neither  light  nor 

2S2 


THE    STREET_CAU^ED_^r^jmirr 

sign  of  living.  There  was  something  stricken  and 
sinister  about  the  place. 

He  vvas  half-way  toward  the  front  door  when  a 
white  figure  came  forward  beneath  the  Corinthian 
portico.  If  It  had  not  been  so  white  he  couldn't 
have  seen  it. 

"I'm  here,  Mr.  Davenant." 

The  voice,  too,  sounded  lonely,  like  a  voice  in  a 
vast,  empty  house.  He  crossed  the  lawn  to  the 
portico.  Ohvia  had  already  reseated  herself  in  the 
wicker  chair  from  which  she  had  risen  at  his  ap- 
proach. ' 

"Aren't  you  afraid  of  taking  cold.?"  She  had  not 
ottered  him  her  hand;  both  hands  were  hidden  in 
the  folds  of  her  voluminous  wrap.  He  said  the  sim- 
plest thing  lie  could  think  of. 

"No.  I'm  wearing  a  very  warm  fur-lined  cloak, 
it  s  very  long,  too.  I  couldn't  stay  indoors.  The 
house  seemed  so — so  dead." 

"Is  there  nobody  with  you.?" 

"Colonel  Ashley  went  back  to  town  before  din- 

T''       Ax^M.  """^'"'^   """'^^   '°  ''■^^'-     He's   trying  to 
sleep.     Will  you  sit  down  on  the  step,  or  go  in  and 
bnng  out  a  chair.?     But  perhaps  you'll  find  it  chilly 
U  so,  we'll  go  in." 

She  half  rose,  but  he  checked  her.     "Not  at  all 
I  like  It  here.     It's  one  of  our  wonderful,  old-fashion- 

L^Ik.^ "'.u"'*  it?     Besides,  I've  got  an  overcoat." 
f^  i--.r^,.r  *  ^  Q^gj.  i^jg  shoulders,  seating  t^i«^- 


self  on  the  fl 


oor,  with  his  feet  on  the  steps  below  h 


and  his  back  to  one  of  the  fluted  Corinthian  pil 
e  shadow  was  so  deep  on  this  side  of  the  h 


Th 


283 


iim 


asters, 
ouse — 


(i 


'M 


C   f 


I     ,! 


l\\ 


\^' 


I  if 


1 


i 


IJ 


'.I       ' 


ll^i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

the  side  remote  from  the  approaching  moonrise— that 
they  could  see  each  other  but  dimly.  Of  the  two 
she  was  the  more  visible,  not  only  because  she  was  in 
white,  but  because  of  the  hght  coming  through  the 
open  sittmg-room  behind  her  from  the  hall  in  the 
middle  of  the  house.  In  this  faint  glimmer  he  could 
see  the  pose  of  her  figure  in  the  deep  wicker  arm- 
chair and  the  set  of  her  neat  head  with  its  heavy 
coil  of  hair. 

T  c\  ^'\^^/°"  ^^  '^0"^e,"  she  said,  simply,  "because 
1  reel  so  helpless. 

"^^jf"  ^..rT^'^  ^"""^  reason,"  he  responded, 
guardedly.  I  m  glad  you  thought  of  me,  rather 
than  of  any  one  else." 

He  was  pleased  to  note  that  even  to  his  own  ears 
his  accent  was  polite,  but  no  more.  At  the  same 
mmute  he  found  the  useful  formula  he  had  been  in 
search  of-"I  mustn't  let  her  know  I'm  in  love  with 
her. 

"There's  no  one  else  for  me  to  think  of,"  she  ex- 
plained, in  self-excuse.  "If  there  were,  I  shouldn't 
bother  you. 

"That's  not  so  kind,"  he  said,  keeping  to  the  tone 
ot  conventional  gallantry. 

"I  don't  mean  that  I  haven't  plenty  of  friends. 
1  know  lots  of  people— naturally;  but  I  don't  know 
them  in  a  way  to  appeal  to  them  like  this." 

]*Then  so  much  the  better  for  me." 

"That's  not  a  reason  for  my  imposing  on  3our 
kindness;  and  yet  I'm  afraid  I  must  go  on  doinj;  it. 
1  tee!  like  a  person  in  such  desperate  straits  f.,i 
ready  money  that  he's  reckless  of  the  rate  of  in- 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

terest.     Not  that  it's  a  question  of  money  now  — 
exactly." 

"It  doesn't  matter  what  it's  a  case  of.  I'm  at 
your  service,  Miss  Guion — " 

"I  know.  That's  why  I  asked  you  to  come.  I 
want  you  to  keep  Colonel  Ashley  from  doing  what  he 
proposed  this  afternoon." 

She  spoke  more  abruptly,  more  nervously,  than 
was  her  habit. 

"I  would  if  I  could;  but  I  don't  know  that  I've 
any  way  of  dissuading  him." 

"You  needn't  dissuade  him.  You've  simply  to 
refuse  to  take  his  money." 

"It's  not  quite  so  easy  as  that,  because  there's  no 
direct  business  between  him  and  me.  If  Mr.  Guion 
wanted  to  pay  me  what  I've  lent  him,  I  couldn't  de- 
cline to  accept  it.     Do  you  see.?" 

In  the  dim  light  he  noticed  her  head  nodding 
slowly.  "Oh,  so  that's  the  way  it  is.?  It  would 
have  to  be  done  through  papa.?" 

"It  would  have  to  be  done  through  him.  And 
if  he  preferred  to  use  Colonel  Ashley's  money 
rather  than  mine,  I  should  have  nothing  at  all  to 
say." 

^^  "I  see;  I^  see,"  she  commented,  thoughtfully. 
"And  I  don't  know  how  papa  would  feel  about  it, 
or  how  far  I  could  count  on  him." 

For  a  few  minutes  Davenant  said  nothing.  When 
he  spoke  it  was  with  some  amazement  at  his  own 
temerity.  "I  thought  you  didn't  want  my  help,  if 
you  could  possibly  get  any  other?" 

The  words  took  her  by  surprise.     He 


'If 

j- }. 


^■     i. 


V-  if 


ill' 

\  it,'. 

\\v' 


could  see  her 


28: 


^^^i^<^m 


^.?vp 


Hi  i 


[t      I 


'f 


ii 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

draw  her  cloak  more  tightly  about  her,  her  hands 
still  within  its  folds, 

"I  felt  that  way  at  first.  I  don't  now.  Per- 
haps I  understand  you  a  little  better.  But,  in  an\- 
case,  I  couldn't  take  his." 

He  pushed  the  liberty  a  little  further.  "But  if 
you're  going  to  marry  him—" 

"That's  just  it.  I  wonder  if  you've  the  faintest 
idea  of  what  it  means  to  a  woman  to  marry  a  man 
by  making  herself  a  burden  to  him  in  advance— and 
such  a  burden!" 

*'It  wouldn't  be  a  burden  to  any  one  who— who— " 
"I  know  what  you're  going  to  say.  Love  docs 
make  a  difference.  Of  course.  But  it  acts  one  vva\- 
on  the  man  and  another  way  on  the  woman.  In 
proportion  as  it  urges  him  to  make  the  sacrifice,  it 
impels  her  to  prevent  it." 

He  grew  still  bolder.     The  cover  of  the  night  and 
the  intimacy  of  the  situation  made  him  venturesome 
Ihen  why  don't  you  break  ofF  your  engagement:' 
It  was  a  long  while  before  she  answered      "He 
won't  let  me,"  she  said  then.     "And,  besides,"  she 
added,  after  slight  hesitation,  "it's  difficult  not  to  be 
true  to  a  man  who's  showing  himself  so  noble." 
"Is  that  your  only  reason.?" 
She  raised  her  head  slightly  and  turned  toward 
^    ...I?,  ^'^P^^^ed  something  cutting,  but  she  onlr 
said:     What  makes  you  ask  that?" 

He  was  a  little  frightened.  He  backed  down,  and 
yet  not  altogether.  "Oh,  nothing.  I  only-won- 
dered. 

"If  you  think  I  don't  care  for  him—" 

286 


.^•V'^T^T^to^X^^ 


\ 


"Oh  no.     Not  that— not  that  at  all  " 
"Well,  if  you  tverr  to  think  it,  it  would  probably 
be  because  I  ve  been  throuRh  so  much     I'm  .0/.,, 
through  so  much^that  that  sort  of  thing  has  be- 
come  secondary." 

"I    didn't    know    that -that   sort   of  thing-was 
(ver  secondary.  ^ 

"Because  3ou've   never  had   the  experience.     If 
you  had — 

The  freedom  of  speech  she  seemed  to  be  according 
him  led  him  on  to  say:  ^ 

"I've  had  experience  enough-as  you  may  know 
-to  be  sure  It  wouldn't  be  secondary  with  me  " 

She  seemed  willing  to  disci-       he  point.     ''When 
I  say  secondary  1  mean  that      m  in  a  position  in 
which  I  hnd  .t  isn  t  the  most  important  thing  in  the 
world  to  me  to  marry  the  man  I-I  care  for." 
Ihen,  what  u  the  most  important  thing  =" 

She  stirred  impatiently.  "Oh.  it's  no  use  going 
into  that;  I  suppose  it  would  be-to  be  free-not 
to  owe  you  anything-or  an.vbody  anything-to  be 
out  o  this  big,  useless  house— away  from  these 
unpaid  servants— and— and  free!  I'm  not  a  de- 
pendent person  I  dare  say  you've  noticed  that, 
shouldn  t  mind  having  no  money.  I  know  a  way 
l>.v  which  I  could  support  m;-self-and  papa.  I've 
thought  that  out.  I  shouldn't  mind  being  alone  in 
the  world,  either-if  I  could  only  burst  the  coil 
thats  been  wound  about  me." 

^^  "But  since  you  can't,"  he  said,   rather  cruelly, 
^^ouldn  t  the  next  best  thing  be-to  marry  the  man 
}ou  care  for.? 

287 


P: 


fl 


\l 


:t'i. 

i'  i 
'J 


.!  ■■■ ! 


}-■¥ 
f 


li 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGII'I 

Her  response  was  to  say,  irrelevantly,  somewhat 
quavenngly,  in  a  voice  as  near  to  tears  as  he  could 
fancy  her  coming:  "I  wish  I  hadn't  fallen  out  with 
Aunt  Vic." 

I'  Why  ?     Would  she  help  you  ?" 
"She's  very  good  and  kind—in  her  way." 
'  "Whv  don't  you  write  to  her.^" 
.    "Writing  wouldn't  be  any  good  now.    It's  too  latt." 
Another    long    silence    fell    between    them.     The 
darkened  windows  of  the  house  on  the  other  side 
of  the  lawn  began  to  reflect  a  pallid  gleam  as  the  moon 
rose.     Shadows  of  trees  and  of  clumps  of  shrubbery 
became    faintly    visible   on    the    grass.     The   great 
rounded  elm  in  the  foreground  detached  itself  against 
the  shimmering,  illuminated  sky  like  an  open  fan. 
Davenant    found    something   ecstatic    in    the    half- 
light,  the  peace,  and  the  extraordinary  privilege  of 
being  alone  with  her.     It  would  be  one  more  memor}- 
to  treasure  up.     Silence,  too,  was  a  form  of  commun- 
ion more  satisfactory  to  him  than  speech.     It  was  so 
full  of  unutterable  things  that  he  wondered  at  her 
allowing  it  to  last. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  he  who  broke  it.  The  even- 
ing grew  chilly  at  last.  Somewhere  in  the  town  a 
clock  struck  ten.  He  felt  it  would  be  indiscreet  to 
stay  longer. 

"I'll  make  a  try  for  it.  Miss  Guion,"  he  said, 
when  he  had  got  on  his  feet  to  go  away.  "Sincr 
you  vvant  n.e  to  see  Colonel  Ashley,  I  will." 

"  They  always  say  that  one  man  has  such  influence 
on  another,"  she  said,  rising,  too— "and  \c)u  s.e 
thmgs  so  clearly  and  have  such  a  lot  of  coninion 


:'  ■^.:^-t,^:'fcC^-u*^^;<^tii^f»7:^:^      fri 


m 


7 


HE    STREET    CALLKn.^ T RAICH T 


sense.  .        I'll  walk  down  to  the  gate  with  you.  . 
1  m  tired  with  sitting  still." 

He  offered  his  hand  to  help  her  in  descending  the 
portico  steps  I  hough  there  was  no  need  for  her  to 
take  ,t,  sne  did  so.  The  white  cloak,  loosely  gath- 
ered in  one  hand  in  front,  trailed  behind  her  He 
thought  her  very  spirit-like  and  ethereal 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps  hisheartgave  a  greatbound; 
he  went  hot  and  cold.  It  seemed  to  him  -he  was  surj 
-he  could  have  sworn-that  her  hand  rested  in  his  a 
perceptible  instant  longer  than  there  was  any  need  for 

\  moment    atcr  he  was  scoffing  at  the  miracle' 

was  a  mistake  on  his  part,  or  an  accident  on  hers' 
t  was  thi'  mocking  of  his  own  desire,  the  illusion  of 
his  feverish,  overstrained   senses.      It  was    a  resto- 
rative to  say  to  himself:  "Don't  be  a  damned  fool  " 

And  yet  they  walked  to  the  gate  almost  in  silence 

|•'''u■\^'^  "''^''■'^''^"^  embarrassment,  like  that 
^vl.ch  had  precc|ded  it.  It  hac'  some  of  the  ^:^r^ 
he  .silence  which  goes  v^ith  long-established  com- 
panionships He  spoke  but  once,  to  remind  her,  pro- 
tectingly,  that  the  grass  was  damp,  and  to  draw  her 
-almost  tactually— to  the  graveled  path. 

1  hey  came  to  the  gate,  but  he  did  not  immediatelv 
say  good  night. 

"I  wish  you  could  throw  the  burden  of  the  whole 
tl^.ng  on  me    Miss  Guion,"  he  ventured,  wistfuH  ■ 
and  just  take  It  easy." 

ot  Ight.  that  showed  the  town.     "If  I  eould  do  it 
\Mth  any  one,  it  would  be  with  \-ou-n..w  " 

Ihere  was  an  inllcction  on  the  nnzv  whw-h  -yW^r. 

i^  289  ''''''' 


':  % 


■■  i 


'jt::mmmm^'m^^^^m^^. 


.  r 


ir 


If.  w 


r//ig    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

gave  him  strange  and  sudden  thrills,  as  though  some 
extraordinary  chemical  agent  had  been  infused  into 
his  blood.  All  kinds  of  capitulations  were  implied 
in  it — changes  of  heart  and  mind  and  attitude- 
changes  that  had  come  about  imperceptibly,  and  for 
reasons  which  he,  and  porhaps  she,  cou!  1  not  have 
followed.  He  felt  the  upleaping  of  great  joy.  It  was 
joy  so  intense  that  it  made  him  tactful,  temperate. 
It  also  made  him  want  to  rush  away  and  be  alone. 

"I'll  make  that  do  for  the  present,"  he  said, 
smihng  down  at  her  through  the  darkness.  "Thank 
you  for  letting  me  come.     Good  night." 

"Good   night." 

There  v/as  again  that  barely  noticeable  lingering 
of  her  hand  in  his.  The  repetition  rather  disap- 
pointed him.  "It's  just  her  way  of  shaking  hands," 
was  the  explanation  he  gave  of  it. 

When  he  had  passed  out  of  tne  gate  he  pretended 
to  take  his  way  down  Algonquin  Avenue,  but  he 
only  crossed  the  street  to  the  shelter  of  a  friendly- 
elm.  There  he  could  watch  her  tall,  white  figure 
as  it  went  slowlv  up  the  driveway.  Except  for  a 
dim  light  in  the  fan-shaped  window  over  the  front 
door  the  house  was  dark.  The  white  figure  moved 
with  an  air  of  dragging  itself  along. 

"It  isn't  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world 
for  her,"  he  whispered  to  himself,  "to  mzuy—thc 
man  she  cares  jorT 

There  was  a  renewal  of  his  blind  fury  against 
Ashley,  while  at  the  same  time  he  found  himself 
groaning,  inwardly:  "I  wi^h  to  God  the  man  she 
cares  for  wasn't  such  a — such  a— trump!" 

290 


1" 


i 


n 


li 


XVIII 


; 


^HEN  the  colonel  of  the  Sussex  Rangers 

Wnf  woke  on  the  following  morning  the 
R  Ijmfraville  element  in  him,  fatigued 
\^  doubtless  with  the  demands  of  the 
J  previous  day,  still  slept  on.  That 
3  strain  in  him  which  had  made  his  ma- 
ternal ancestors  gentlemen  -  adventurers  in  Tudor 
times,  and  cavaliers  in  the  days  of  Charles  the  First, 
and  Jacobites  with  James  the  Second,  and  roysterers 
with  George  the  Fourth — loyal,  swashbuckling,  and 
impractical,  daring,  dashing,  lovable,  absurd,  bound 
to  come  to  grief  one  day  or  another,  aj  they  had 
come — that  strain  lying  dormant,  Ashley  was  free 
to  wake  in  the  spirit  of  the  manufacturer  of  b;  isV^^s. 
In  other  words  he  woke  in  alarm.  It  was  very  real 
alarm.  It  was  alarm  not  unlike  that  of  the  gambler 
who  realizes  in  the  cold  stare  of  morning  that  for  a 
night's  excitement  he  has  thrown  away  a  fortune. 

The  feeling  w^as  so  dreadful  that,  as  he  lay  for  a 
few  minutes  with  his  eyes  closed,  he  could  say  with- 
out exaggeration  that  he  had  never  felt  anything  so 
sickening  in  his  life.  It  was  worse  than  the  blue 
funk  that  attended  the  reveille  for  his  first  battle 
— worse  than  the  bluer  remorse  that  had  come  with 
the  dawn  after  some  of  his  more  youthful  sprees. 

291 


^ 


-f' 


IS 


■f'i: 


J' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

The  only  parallel  to  it  he  could  find  was  in  the 
desolation  of  poor  creatures  he  had  seen,  chiefly  in 
India,  reduced  suddenly  by  fire,  flood,  or  earth- 
quake to  the  skin  they  stood  in  and  a  lodging  on  the 
ground.  His  swaggering  promises  of  yesterday  had 
brought  him  as  near  as  possible  to  that. 

Fortunately,  when  he  had  sprung  out  of  bed  the 
feeling  became  less  poignant.  By  the  time  he  had 
had  his  bath  and  his  breakfast  it  had  got  itst'  with- 
in the  limits  of  what  could  be  expressed  in  the  state- 
ment: "I've  been  a  jolly  ass." 

Though  there  was  no  denying  this  fact,  he  could 
nevertheless  use  the  reproach  in  its  precise  significa- 
tion. He  was  not  a  jolly  ass  because  he  had  remained 
true  to  Olivia  Guion,  but  because  of  the  extrava- 
gant methods  of  his  faithfulness.  No  one  but  an 
Umfraville,  he  declared,  would  have  hesitated  to 
accept  the  status  quo.  Considering  that  in  spite 
of  everything  he  was  still  eager  to  give  Olivia  the 
shelter  of  his  name  and  the  advantages  of  his  posi- 
tion, his  insistence  on  doing  more  fell  short  of  the 
j^rotesque. 

Nevertheless  he  had  insisted  on  it,  and  it  was  too 
late  to  shrink  from  making  good  his  offer.  No  doubt, 
if  he  did  so  shrink,  Olivia  would  commend  him;  but 
it  would  be  a  commendation  not  inconsistent  with  a 
fall  in  her  esteem.  His  nerves  still  tingled  with  the 
joy  of  hearing  her  say,  as  she  had  said  yesterday: 
"You're  the  noblest  man  in  the  world;  I  never 
dreamed  there  could  be  any  one  like  you."  She  w:is 
so  sparing  with  her  words  that  these  meant  moii' 
from  her  than  from  another.     If  she  used  them,  it 

292 


"■A-SrvJif^. 


Ill* 


THE    STREET    CJLLED    STRAIGHT 

was  because  she  thought  he  was  the  noblest  man  in 
the  world  and  because  he  did  surpass  hec  dreams. 
This  was  setting  up  the  standard  in  a  way  that  per- 
mitted no  falling  short  of  it.  He  must  be  Rupert 
Ashley  at  his  best  even  if  the  world  went  to  pieces 
while  he  made  the  attempt.  Moreover,  if  he  failed, 
there  was  always  Peter  Davenant  ready  to  loom 
up  above  him.  "I  must  keep  higher  than  him," 
he  said  to  himself,  "whatever  it  costs  me."  So, 
little  by  little,  the  Umfraville  in  him  also  woke, 
with  its  daredevil  chivalrv.  It  might  be  said  to 
have  urged  him  on,  while  the  Ashley  prudence  held 
him  back,  when  from  his  room  in  the  hotel  he  com- 
municated by  telephone  with  Olivia,  begging  her  to 
arrange  an  interview  '  etween  Guion  and  himself 
abgut  eleven  o'clock. 

Oi.  taking  the  message  to  her  father  Olivia  found 
him  awake,  but  still  in  bed.  Since  his  downfall  had 
become  generally  known,  she  had  noticed  a  reluc- 
tance on  his  part  to  get  up.  It  was  true  he  was  not 
well;  but  his  shrinking  from  activity  was  beyond 
what  his  degree  of  illness  warranted.  It  was  a  day 
or  two  before  she  learned  to  view  this  seeming  in- 
dolence as  nothing  but  the  desire  to  creep,  for  as  many 
hours  as  possible  out  of  the  twenty-four,  into  the 
only  refuge  left  to  him.  In  his  bed  he  was  compara- 
tively safe,  not  from  the  law,  which  he  no  longer 
had  to  fear,  but  from  intrusion  and  inspection,  and, 
above  all,  from  sympathy. 

It  was  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock.  The  blinds 
were  up,  the  windows  open,  and  the  sunshine  was 

20; 


if 


>!i 


m 


\^\ 


].iMt^: 


tl^aiL'!l^S^t«l 


'    8, 


'I.''  i 


i  c  fj, 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

streaming  in.  A  tray  with  his  scarcely  tasted  break- 
fast on  it  stood  beside  the  bed.  Guion  lay  on  his 
back,  his  head  sunk  deep  into  the  pillows.  Though  his 
face  was  turned  from  the  door  and  his  eyes  closed, 
Olivia  knew  he  was  not  sleeping.  After  performing!; 
small  tasks  in  the  room,  carrying  the  breakfast 
tray  into  the  hall,  and  lowering  the  blinds,  she  sar 
down  at  the  bedside. 

"Papa,  darling." 

As  he  turned  his  head  slowly  she  thought  his  eyes 
had  the  look  of  mortal  ennu:  hat  Rembrandt  de- 
picts in  those  of  Lazarus  rising  fror".  the  tomb  and 
coming  back  to  life. 

She  delivered  her  message,  to  which  he  replied, 
"He  can  come." 

"I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  she  continued, 
"what  he's  comi.  g  for." 

She  gave  him  the  gist  of  her  conversation  with 
Ashley  on  the  previous  day  and  the  one  great  de- 
cision to  which  they  had  led  him  up.  It  would 
have  gratified  Ashley,  could  he  have  overheard,  to 
note  the  skill  with  which  she  conveyed  preciseh' 
that  quality  of  noble  precipitancy  in  his  words  and 
resolutions  which  he  himself  feared  they  had  lacked. 
If  1  slight  suspicion  could  have  risen  in  his  mind,  it 
would  have  been  that  of  a  certain  haste  on  her  part 
to  forestall  any  possible  questioning  o''  his  eager- 
ness such  as  he  had  occasion  to  observe  in  himself. 
I  hat  might  have  wounded  nim. 

"So  he  wants  to  go  ahead,"  Guion  said,  when  she- 
had  finished. 

"Apparently." 

294 


Vui 


THE    STREET    CA L L ED    ST RATGIIT 

"Can't  he  do  that  and  still  leave  things  as  tliev 
are: 

"He  seems  to  think  he  can't." 

"I  don't  see  wh\'.  If  I  have  to  owe  the  money 
to  anv  one,  I'd  rather  owe  it  to  Davenant." 

"So  should   I." 

"Do  you  really  want  to  marry  him"" 

The  question  startled  her.     "Alarry  him.'     Who.'" 

There  was  a  look  almost  of  humor  in  Guion's  for- 
lorn eyes.  "Well,  I  didn't  mean  Davenant.  I 
didn't  suppose  there  was  any — " 

"Papa,  darling,"  she  hastened  to  say,  "as  things 
are  at  present  I'd  rather  not  marry  any  one  at  all. 
There's  so  much  for  me  to  do  in  getting  life  on  an- 
other footing  for  us  both  that  marriage  seems  to  be- 
long to  another  kind  of  world." 

He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  turning  toward 
her.     "Then  why  don't  you  tell  him  so."' 

"I  have;  but  he  won't  take  that  as  a  reason. 
And,  besides,  I've  said  I  zvonld  marry  him  if  he'd 
give  up  this  wild  project — " 

"But  you're  in  love  with  him,  aren't  you.'  You 
may  as  well  tell  me,"  he  continued,  as  she  colored. 
"I  must  have  soyne  data  to  go  on." 

"I — I  zcas  in  love  with  him,"  she  faltered.  "I 
suppose  I  am  still.  But  while  everything  is  as  it  is, 
I  -I— can't  tell;  I — I  don't  know.  I'm — I'm  feel- 
inn  so  many  orher  things  that  I  don't  know  whether 
I  teel — feel  love — or  noi.  I  dare  say  I  do.  But 
K  s  like  asking  a  man  if  he's  fond  of  playing  a  cer- 
tain game  when  he  thinks  he's  going  to  die." 

He  slipped  down  into  bed  again,  pulling  the  cover- 

-95 


r 


:  f 


fed 


ill 


..■-'-A*-'^*  '-'1'      ' 


'ti 


n? 


't 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

let  about  his  chin  and  turning  his  face  away.  As 
he  said  nothinr  more,  she  rose  to  go.  "About 
eleven,  then,  papa  dear." 

She  could  hear  a  muffled  assent  as  she  left  the  room. 
She  was  afraid  he  was  crying. 

Nevertheless,  when  she  had  gone  Guion  rang  for 
Reynolds  and  made  his  usual  careful  toilet  with  un- 
common elaboration.  By  the  time  his  guest  ar- 
rived he  was  brushed  and  curled  and  stretched  on 
the  couch.  If  he  had  in  the  back  of  his  mind  a  hope 
of  impressing  Ashley  and  showing  him  that  if  he, 
Guion,  had  fallen,  it  was  from  a  height,  he  couldn't 
help  it.  To  be  impressive  was  the  habit  of  his  life  — 
a  habit  it  was  too  late  now  to  overcome.  Had  he 
taken  the  Strange  Ride  with  Morrowby  Jukes,  he 
would  have  been  impressive  among  the  living  dead. 
Curiously  enough,  too,  now  that  that  posfibilitv 
was  past,  he  wondered  if  he  didn't  regret  it.  He 
confessed  as  much  to  Ashley. 

"I  know  what  you've  come  for,"  he  said,  when 
Ashley,  who  had  declined  a  cigar,  seated  himself 
beside  the  couch. 

"That  means,  I  suppose,  that  Olivia  has  got 
ahead  of  me." 

"She  told  me  what  you've  proposed.  It's  ver^- 
fine — very  sporting." 

"I  haven't  proposed  it  because  it's  either  sport- 
ing or  fine.     It  seems  to  me  the  only  thing  to  do." 

"Y-es;    I   can   understand   that   you   should   feci 
so  about  it.     I  should  myself  if  I  were  in  your  place 
and  had  a  r.ght  to  be  generous.     The  trouble  is 
that  it  wouldn't  work." 

296 


lir 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Ashley  would  have  given  much  not  to  feel  this 
sudden  exhilaration  of  relief.  It  was  so  glowing  that, 
in  spite  of  his  repugnance,  he  could  have  leaned  for- 
ward and  wrung  Guion's  hand.  He  contrived, 
however,  to  throw  a  ton«  of  objection  into  his  voice 
as  he  said:  "Wouldn't  work.?     Why  not.?" 

Guion  raised  himself  on  his  elbow.  "It's  no  use 
going  over  the  arguments  as  to  the  effect  on  your 
position.  You've  considered  all  that,  no  doubt,  and 
feel  that  you  can  meet  it.  Whether  you  could  or 
not  when  it  came  to  the  point  is  another  question. 
But  no  matter.  There  are  one  or  two  things  you 
haven't  considered.  I  hate  to  put  them  before 
you,  because— well,  because  you're  a  fine  fellow— 
and  it's  too  bad  that  you  should  be  in  this  fix. 
It's  part  of  my— my— my  chastisement— to  have 
put  you  there;  but  it'  11  be  something  to  me— some 
alleviation,  if  you  can  understand— to  help  to  get 
you  out." 

Ashley  was  dumb.  He  was  also  uncomfortable. 
He  hated  this  sort  of  thing. 

Guion  continued.  "Suppose  I  were  to  let  you 
go  ahead  on  this— let  you  raise  the  money— and 
take  it  from  you— and  pay  Davenant— and  all  that 
—then  you  might  marry  my  daughter,  and  get  life 
on  some  sort  of  tolerable  working  basis.  I  dare 
say."  He  pulled  himself  forward  on  the  couch. 
Ashley  noticed  the  blazing  of  his  eyes  and  hectic 
color  in  his  cheeks.     "You  might  even  be  happy, 

"\?  ^^."-'V'  ^^  '^^"^  °"'  "'^  you  didn't  have— w^." 
"Didn't  have— you.?     I  don't  understand—" 
"And  you'd  have  me.     You  couldn't  get  out  of  it. 

297 


I  ■ 


it 

S't-    \       H 
:  f   ; 


I' 

■   i-.. 

'  I 

i 
i 


fA 


r  il 


I  f*  >  I'l' 


'^  ^ 


r^^  STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

I'm  done  for — I'm  no  good  to  any  one  any  more — 
but  I'm  not  going  to  die.  That's  my  point.  That's 
my  punishment,  too.  Can't  you  imagine  what  ir 
means  to  a  man  Hke  me — who  used  to  think  well  (.f 
himself — who's  been  well  thought  of— can't  you 
imagine  what  it  is  to  have  to  inspire  every  one  wjio 
belongs  to  him  with  loathing.?  That's  what  I'vi- 
got  to  do  for  the  rest  of  my  life — and  I'm  going  to 
live.'' 

"Oh,  I  say!" 

"You  mayn't  believe  it,  Ashley,  but  I'd  rathtr 
have  been — shut  up — put  away — where  ptopK 
couldn't  see  me — where  I  didn't  have  to  see  thtni. 
You  know  Olivia  and  I  were  facing  that.  I  exptcr 
she's  told  you.  And  'pon  my  soul  there  are  main 
ways  in  which  it  would  have  been  easier  than 
than  this.  But  that's  not  what  I'm  coming  to.  Tin 
great  fact  is  that  after  you'd  counted  your  cost  and 
done  your  utmost  you  still  have  me — like  a  dead  rat 
strung  round  your  neck — " 

"Oh,  I  say,  by  Jove!" 

"Olivia,  poor  child,  has  to  bear  it.  She  can,  ton. 
That's  a  remarkable  thing  about  us  New  England 
people — our  grit  in  the  face  of  disgrace.  I  fani.\ 
there  are  many  of  our  women  who'd  be  as  pluck\ 
as  she — and  I  know  one  man.  I  don't  know  an\ 
others." 

Ashley  felt  sick.  He  ha  never  in  his  life  ftlr 
such  repulsion  as  toward  what  seemed  to  him  this 
facile,  theatrical  remorse.  If  Guion  was  reallv  ton- 
trite,  if  he  really  wanted  to  relieve  the  world  of  his 


presence,  he  could  blow  his  brains  out. 

298 


Ashle 


v  n;u: 


THE    STREET    CJ LLED    HTRJIGHT 

known,  or  known  of,  so  many  who  had  resorted  to 
this   ready   remedy   for  a   desperate   phght   that   it 


d    simple,     flis    thoughts   were    too   com. 
er,   for  immediate  expression,  and,  before 


plex, 


seeme 
liowev 
could  decide  what  to  respond,  Guion  said: 

"Why  don't  you  give  him  a  chancer" 

Ashley  was  startled.  "Chance?  What  chance? 
Whor" 

"Davenant." 

Ashley  grasped  the  back  of  his  chair  as  though 
ab(jut  to  spring  up.  "What's  he  want  a  chance  for.? 
Ciiance  for  what.?" 

"I  might  have  .said:  'Why  don't  you  give  her  a 
chance.?'     She's  half  in  love  with  him — as  it  is." 

"That's  a  lie.     That's  an  infernal  lie." 

Ashley  was  on  his  feet.  He  pushed  the  chair 
from  him,  though  he  still  grasped  it.  He  seemed  to 
need  it  for  support.  Guion  showed  no  resentment, 
conrinuing  to  speak  with  feverish  quiet. 

"I  think  you'll  find  that  the  whole  thing  is 
predestined,  Ashley.  Davenant's  coming  to  my 
;iid  IS  what  you  might  call  a  miracle.  I  don't  like 
to  use  the  expression— it  sounds  idiotic— and  cant- 
ing—and all  that— but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
came — as  an  answer  to  pra\'er." 

Ashley  gave  a  snort  of  impatience.  Guion 
'.vaimed  to  his  subject,  dragging  himself  farther  up 
on  the  couch  and  throwing  the  coverlet  from  his 
knees. 

"\es,  of  course;  you'd  feel  that  way  about  it — 
naturally.  So  should  I  if  anybody  else  were  to  tell 
me.     But  this  is  how  it  happened.     One  night,  not 

299 


i 


^ii 


u 


it  i     >4 


lip 


:4rri 


i   I 


i.l.-,  : 


EJi  f 


r//£    STREET    CALLED    STRAlGHl 

long  ago,  while  you  were  on  the  water,  I  was  so  hard 
hit  that  I— well,  I  actually— prayer/.  I  don't  know 
that  I  ever  did  before — that  is,  not  really — pra\\ 
But  I  did  then;  and  I  didn't  beat  about  the  bush, 
either.  I  didn't  stop  at  half  measures;  I  asked  for 
a  miracle  right  out  and  out — and  I  got  it.  The 
next  morning  Davenant  came  with  his  offer  of  the 
money.  You  may  make  what  you  like  out  of  that; 
but  I  make — " 

"I  make  this,  by  Jove;  that  you  and  he  entered 
into  a  bargain  that  he  should  supply  the  cash,  and 
you  should — " 

"Wrong!"  With  his  arm  stretched  to  its  full 
'ength  he  pointed  his  forefinger  up  into  Ashley's 
face.  "Wrong!"  he  cried,  again.  "I  asked  him  if 
she  had  anything  to  do  with  it,  and  he  said  she 
hadn't." 

"PfF!  Would  you  expect  him  t  acknowledge 
it.?  He  might  deny  it  till  he  damned  his  soul  with 
lies;  but  that  wouldn't  keep  you  and  him  from—" 

"Before  God,  Ashley,  I  never  thought  of  it  till 
later.  I  know  it  looks  that  way — the  way  you  put 
it — but  I  never  thought  of  it  till  later.  I  dragged 
it  out  of  him  that  he'd  once  been  in  love  with  her 
and  had  asked  her  to  marry  him.  That  was  a  regular 
knock-down  surprise  to  me.  I'd  had  no  idea  of 
anything  of  the  kind.  But  he  said  he  wasn't  in 
love  with  her  any  longer.  I  dare  say  he  thinks 
he  isn't;  but — " 

"Suppose  he  is;  that  needn't  affect  her — exeipt 
as  an  impertinence.  A  woman  can  defend  herself 
against  that  sort  of  thing,  by  Jove!" 

300 


wme^mm'^mm^^i^ 


'¥  1 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"It  needn't  affect  her— only— only  as  a  matter  of 
fact— it  does.  It  appeals  to  her  imagination.  The 
big  scale  of  the  thing  would  impress  almost  any 
woman.  Look  here,  Ashley,"  he  cried,  with  a 
touch  of  hysteria;  "it  '11  be  better  for  us  all  in  the 
long  run  if  you'll  give  him  a  chance.  It  '11  be  better 
for  you  than  for  any  one  else.  You'll  be  well  out  of 
it— any  impartial  person  would  tell  you  that.  You 
must  see  it  yourself.  You  do  see  it  yourself.  We're 
not  your  sort — " 

But  Ashley  could  stand  it  no  longer.  With  a 
smothered,  inarticulate  oath,  he  turned  abruptly, 
and  marched  out  of  the  room. 


■  r 


•I 

m 
m 


\'" . 


if 

i  i 

m 


51-iI 


i  It 


^' 


XIX 


K  " 


\\ 


W 


ORTUNATELY  there  was  no  one  ii 
the  upper  hall,  nor  on  the  stairs,  no 
in  the  lower  hall,  nor  in  the  oval  roon 
into  which  Ashley  stumhled  his  w;i\ 
The  house  was  all  sunshine  and  sikiut 
He  dropped  into  the  nearest  arm 
chair.  "It's  a  lie,"  he  kept  repeating  to  hinisilt 
"It's  a  lie.  It's  a  damned,  infernal  lie.  It's  a  jMir- 
up  job  between  them — between  the  old  scoumlii, 
and   that — rhrt      ^f." 

The  reflection  brought  him  comfort.  \\\  dec.iii> 
it  brought  him  a  great  deal  of  comfort.  Thar  \va> 
the  explanation,  of  course!  There  was  no  ntn  c!  <>i 
his  being  panic-stricken.  To  frighten  him  ott"  was 
part  of  their  plan.  Had  he  not  challenged  her  twc 
or  three  times  to  say  she  didn't  care  for  him?  It"  slu 
had  any  doubt  on  the  subject  he  had  given  lur 
ample  opportunity  to  declare  it.  But  she  had  imr 
done  so.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  made  him  bnrh 
positive  and  negative  statements  of  her  love.  W  hat 
more  could  he  ask.' 

He  breathed  again.  The  longer  he  thoutihr  oi 
it  the  better  his  situation  seemed  to  grow.  IK  laJ 
done  all  that  an  honorable  man  could  think  of.  IK- 
had  been  chivalrous  to  a  quixotic  degree.     If  ti.c) 

302 


Ia  •*: 


77;.^    STREET    CALLED^^RJjCirr 

had  not  accepted  his  generous  proposals,  then  so 
much  the  worse  for  them.  They-  Guion  and  Dave- 
nant  — were  pursuing  obstructionist  tactics,  so  as  to 
put  him  in  a  place  where  he  couid  do  nothing  but 
retreat.  Very  well;  he  would  show  them!  'Jhere 
were  points  beyond  which  even  chivalry  could  not 
j;();  and  if  they  found  themselves  tangled  in  their 
own  barbed  wire  they  them.-,elves  would  be  to  blame. 

So,  as  the  minute  of  foolish,  jealous  terror  passed 
awav,  he  began  to  enjoy  the  mellow  peace  of  the 
old  house.  It  was  the  first  thing  he  had  enjoyed 
since  landing  in  America.  His  pleasure  was  largely 
in  the  anticipation  of  soon  leaving  that  country 
with  all  the  honors  and  Olivia  Guion  besides. 

It  was  a  gratification  to  the  AsMey  spirit,  too,  to 
note  how  promptly  the  right  thing  had  paid.  It  was 
really  something  to  take  to  heart.  The  moral  to  be 
drawn  from  his  experiences  at  the  heights  of  Dargal 
tKul  been  illustrated  over  and  over  again  in  his 
carter;  and  this  was  once  more.  If  he  had  funked 
rhe  sacrifice  it  would  have  been  on  his  conscience 
all  the  rest  of  his  life.  As  it  was,  he  had  made  it, 
or  practicalh  made  it,  and  so  could  take  his  reward 
\\ithout  scruple. 

He  put  this  plainly  before  Olivia  when  at  last  she 
appeared.  She  came  slowly  through  the  hall  from 
the  direction  of  the  dining-room,  a  blank-book  and 
a  pencil  in  her  hand. 

uv^"^    making    an     inventory,"     she     explained, 
'lou  know  that  everything  will  ha-e  to  be  sold.'" 
He  ignored  this  to  hurrv  to  his  i    ;  junt  of  the  in- 
terview with  Guion.     It   had   bee"   brief,  he  said, 

303 


m 


\ 


II  ' 


# 


i      ift 


y  •  ' 


r//£    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

and  in  a  certain  sense  unsatisfactory.  He  laid 
stress  on  his  regret  that  her  father  should  have  seen 
fit  to  decline  his  offer — that's  what  it  amounted  to 
— but  he  pointed  out  to  her  that  that  bounder 
Davenant,  who  had  doubtless  counseled  this  refusal, 
would  now  be  the  victim  of  his  own  wiles.  He  had 
overreached  himself.  He  had  taken  one  of  those 
desperate  risks  to  which  *-he  American  speculative 
spirit  is  so  often  tempted — and  he  had  pushed  it  too 
far.  He  would  lose  e\erything  now,  and  serve  him 
right! 

"I've  made  my  offer,"  he  went  on,  in  an  injured 
tone,  "and  they've  thrown  it  out.  I  reall}^  cant 
do  more,  now,  can  I.?" 

"You  know  already  how  I  feel  about  that." 

They  were  still  standing.  He  had  been  too  ea,mr 
to  begin  h's  report  to  offer  lur  a  chair  or  to  take  one 
himself. 

"They  can't  expect  me  to  repeat  it,  now,  can 
they.^"  he  hurried  on.  "There  are  limits,  by  Jove! 
I  can't  go  begging  to  them — " 

"I  don't  think  they  expect  it." 

"And  yet,  if  I  don't,  you  know — he's  dished.  He 
loses  his  money — and  everj'tiiing  else." 

In  putting  a  slight  emphasis  on  the  concluding 
words  he  watched  her  closel)-.  She  betrayed  her- 
self to  the  extent  of  throwing  back  her  head  with  a 
little  tilt  to  the  chin. 

"I  don't  believe  he'd  consider  that  being  dishei. 
He's  the  sort  of  man  who  loses  only  when  1il  - 
flings  away." 

"He's  the  so     jf  man  who's  a  beastly  cad." 

-3<^4 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  regretted  these  words  as  soon  as  they  were 
uitcrer!,  but  she  had  stung  him  to  the  quick.  Her 
next  words  dia  so  again. 

"1  hen,  It  ^o,  I  hope  you  won't  find  it  necessary  to 
repeat  the  information.  I  mistook  him  for  some- 
thmg  very  high-very  high  and  noble;  and,  if  30U 
don  t  mind,  I  d  rather  go  on  doi;,    it." 

She  swept  him  with  a  look  such  as  he  knew  she 
must  be  capable  of  giving,  tho.  ^\  he  had  never  be- 
fore seen  it.  The  next  second  she  had  slipped  between 
the  portieres  into  the  hall.  He  heard  her  pause  there 
It  was  inevitable  that  Guion's  words  should  re- 
turn to  him:  "Half  in  love  with  him— as  it  is  " 

"That's  rot,"  he  assured  himself.  He  had  only 
to  call  up  the  image  of  Davenant's  hulking  figure  and 
heavy  ways  to  see  what  rot  it  was.  He  himself 
was  not  vain  of  his  appearance;  he  had  too  much 
to  his  credit  to  be  obliged  to  descend  to  that;  but 
he  knew  he  was  a  distinguished  man,  and  that  he 
ooked  it.  The  woman  who  could  choose  between 
liim  and  Davenant  would  practically  have  no  choice 
cU  all.     That  seemed  to  him  conclusive. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  with  a  view  to  settling  this 
question  beyond  resurrection  that  he  followed  her 
into  the  hall.  He  found  her  standing  with  the  note- 
nook  still  m  her  hand. 

He  came  softly  behind  her  and  looked  over  her 
shoulder,  his  face  close  to  hers.  She  could  feel  his 
l^reath  on  her  cheek,  but  she  tried 
"I 
Sh 


to  write. 


m  sorry  I  said  what  I  did,"  he  whi' 


e  staged  her  pencil  1     ^^ 
u're  still  sorrier  for  having  thought  it. 


pered. 
ong  enough  to  say:  "I  hope 


f       ! 


•I 


J-T) 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


f 


.  i-1 


t\ 


!  '! 


"I'm  sorry  you  know  I  think  it.  Since  it  affects 
you  so  deeply — " 

"It  affects  me  deeply  to  see  you  can  be  unjust." 

"I'm  more  than  unjust.  I'm — well  you  can  fancv 
what  I  am,  when  I  say  that  I  know  some  one  who 
thinks  you're  more  than  half  in  love  with  this  fellow 
— as  it  is." 

"Is  that  papa?" 

"I  don't  see  that  it  matters  who  it  is.  The  only 
thing  of  importance  is  whether  you  are  or  not." 

"If  you  mean  that  as  a  question,  I  shall  have 
to  let  you  answer  it  yourself." 

"Would  you  tell  me  if — if  you  were?" 

"What  would  be  the  use  of  telling  you  a  thin<f 
that  would  make  you  unhappy  and  that  I  couldn't 
help.?" 

"Am  I  to  understand,  then,  that  you  are  half 
in  love  with  him?" 

She  continued  the  effort  to  write. 

"I  think  I've  a  right  to  press  that  question,"  he 
resumed.     "Am  I,  or  am  I  not,  to  understand — " 

She  turned  slowly.  Her  face  was  flushed,  her 
eyes  were  misty. 

"You  may  understand  this,"  she  said,  keeping  her 
voice  as  much  under  control  as  possible,  "you  ma\ 
understand  this,  that  I  don't  know  whom  I'm  in  Iovl 
with,  or  whether  or  not  I'm  in  love  with  any  one. 
That's  the  best  I  can  say.  I'm  sorry,  Rupert — bur 
I  don't  think  it's  altogether  my  fault.  Papa's 
troubles  seem  to  have  transported  me  into  a  worKl 
where  they  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in  mar- 
riage— where  the  whole  subject  is  alien  to — " 

300 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHJ 

"But  you  said,"  he  protested,  bitterly,  "no 
longer  ago  than  yesterday  rhat  yo\x~loved  me." 

"And  I  suppose  I  do.  I  did  in  Southsea.  I  did 
—right  up  to  the  minute  when  I  learned  what  papa 
—and  I— had  been  doing  all  these  years— and  that 
if  the  law  had  been  put  in  force—  You  see,  that's 
made  me  feel  as  if  I  were  benumbed— as  if 'l  were 
frozen  — or  dead.  You  mustn't  blame  me  too 
much — " 

"My  darling,  I'm  not  blaming  you.  I'm  not  such 
a  duffer  but  that  I  ^an  understand  how  you  feel 
It  '11  be  all  right.  You'll  com.e  round.  This  is  like 
an  illness,  by  Jove!— that's  v  hat  it's  Hke.  But 
you'll  get  better,  dear.  After  we're  married— if 
you'll  only  marry  rne — " 

"I  said  I'd  do  that,  Rupert—  I  said  it  3'ester- 
day— if  you'd  give  up— what  I  understand  you 
have  given  up — " 

He  was  on  his  guard  against  admitting  this  "I 
haven't  given  it  up.  They've  made  it  impossible 
for  me  to  do  it;  that's  all.  It's  their  action,  not 
mine." 

"It  comes  to  the  same  thing.     I'm  ready  to  keep 

my  promise." 
''You  don't  say  it  with  much  enthusiasm." 
"Perhaps    I    say    it    with    something    better.     I 

rhink  I  do.     At  the  same  time  I  wish—" 
"^(^'ji  wish  what.?" 

T  wish  I  had  attached  another  condition  to  it." 
"It  mayn't  be  too  late  for  that  even  now.     Let's 

nave  it." 

"If  I  had  thought  of  it,"  she  said,  with  a  faint, 

307 


■f 


I- 


|- 


1^ 


ffl 


II 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRJIGIIT 

uncertain  smile,  "I  should  have  exacted  a  promise 
that  you  and  he  should  be — friends." 

He  spoke  sharply.  "Who?  Me?  That's  a  good 
'un,  by  Jove!  You  may  as  well  understand  me,  dear, 
once  and  for  all.  I  don't  make  friends  of  cow- 
punchers  of  that  sort." 

"I  do,"  she  said,  coldly,  turning  again  to  her  note- 
book. 


1 .1. 


It  was  not  strange  that  Ashley  should  pass  the 
remainder  of  the  day  in  a  state  of  irritation  against 
what  he  called  "this  American  way  of  doing  things.  ' 
Neither  was  it  strange  that  when,  after  dinner  in 
the  evening,  Davenant  kept  close  to  him  as  they  were 
leaving  Rodney  Temple's  house,  the  act  should  have 
struck  the  Englishman  as  a  bit  of  odious  presump- 
tion. Having  tried  vainly  to  shake  his  companion 
off,  he  was  obliged  to  submit  to  walking  along  the 
Embankment  with  him,  side  by  side. 

He  had  not  found  the  dinner  an  entertaining  event. 
Drusilla  talked  a  great  deal,  but  was  uneasy  and  dis- 
traite. Rodney  Temple  seemed  to  him  "a  queer 
old  cove,"  while  Mrs.  Temple  made  no  impression 
on  him  at  all.  Olivia  had  urged  her  inability  to 
leave  her  father  as  an  excuse  for  not  coming.  Dave- 
nant said  little  beyond  giving  the  information  that 
he  was  taking  leave  of  his  host  and  hostess  to 
sleep  that  night  in  his  old  quarters  in  Boston  and 
proceed  next  day  to  Stoughton,  Michigan.  This 
fact  gave  him  a  pretext  for  saying  good  night 
when  Ashley  did  and  leaving  the  house  in  his  com- 
pany. 

308 


i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"We're  going  the  same  way,  aren't  we?"  he  asked, 
as  soon  as  they  were  outside. 

"No,"  Ashley  said,  promptly;  "'-ou're  taking  the 
tram,  and  I  shall  walk." 

"I  should  like  to  walk,  too.  Colonel,  if  you  don't 
mmd. 

Since  silence  raised  the  most  telling  objection, 
Ashley  made  no  reply.  Taking  out  his  cigarette- 
case,  he  lit  a  cigarette,  without  offering  one  to  his 
companion.  The  discourtesy  was  significant,  but 
Davenant  ignored  it,  commenting  on  the  extra- 
ordinary mildness  of  the  October  night  and  giving 
items  of  information  as  to  the  normal  behavior  of 
American  autumn  weather.  As  Ashley  expressed  no 
appreciation  of  these  data,  the  subject  was  dropped. 
There  was  ?  long  silence  before  Davenant  nerved 
himself  to  begin  on  the  topic  he  had  sought  this 
opportunity  to  broach. 

"You  S7id  yesterda}'.  Colonel,  that  3'ou'd  like  to 
pay  me  back  the  money  I've  advanced  to  Mr. 
Guion.     I'd  just  as  soon  you  wouldn't,  3'ou  know." 

Ashley  deigned  no  answer.  The  tramp  went  on 
in  silence  broken  onh-  by  distant  voices  or  a  snatch 
of  song  from  a  students'  club-house  near  the  river. 
Somewhere  in  the  direction  of  Brookline  a  lo- 
comotive kept  up  a  puffing  like  the  beating  of  a 
pulse. 

'7  ^*^"'5  "^^^  ^^^^  money,"  Davenant  began 
again.  "There's  more  where  it  came  from.  I  shall 
he  out  after  it— from  to-morrow  on." 

Ashley's  silence  was  less  from  rudeness  than  from 
self-restraint.     All    his   nerves   were   taut   with    the 

309 


% 
1 


u 


I 

11 

H 

11 

H 

■ 

•  I 


tl, 

'II. 


Ml 


' ,  i 


I  ■ 


I 


N 


1 


1 


TJll__^TR^EET    CALLED    ST  R  A  Win; 

need  to  visit  his  troubles  on  some  one's  head.     A 
soldiering  life  had  not  accustomed  him  to  indefinite- 
repression  of  his  irritable  impulses,  and  now  aftir 
two  or  three  days  of  it  he  was  at  the  limit  of  his 
powers.     It  was  partly  because  he  knew  his  patience 
to  be  nearly  at  an  end  that  he  wanted   to  be  alone. 
It  was  also  because  he  was  afraid  of  the  blind  fun 
with  which  Davenant's  mere  presence  inspired  him. 
While  he  expressed  this  fury  to  himself  in  epithets 
of  scorn,  he  was  aware,  too,  that  there  were  shades 
of  animosin-  in  it  for  which  he  had  no  ready  suppl\ 
of  terms.     Such    exclamatory   fragments   as   forced 
themselves  up  through  the  t-oubled  incoherence  of" 
his  thoughts  were  of  the  nature  of  "damned  Amer- 
ican," "vulgar  Yankee,"  "insolent  bounder,"   ren- 
dering but  inadequately  the  sentiments  of  a  certain 
kind    of    Englishman    toward    his    fancied    t\pical 
American,    a     crafty     Colossus    who     accomplishes 
everything   by    money   and    brutal   strength.     H;ul 
there    been    nothing   whatever    to   create   a    special 
antagonism  between  them,  Ashley's  feeling  toward 
Davenant  would  still  have  been  that  of  a  civilized 
Jack-the-Giant-Killer    toward    a    stupendous,     un- 
couth foe.     It  would  have  had  elements  in  it  of  fear. 
jealousy,  even  of  admiration,  making  at  its  best  for 
suspicion  and  neutrality,  and  at  its  worst  for. 
But  Davenant  spoke  again. 

"I'd  a  great    leal  rather.  Colonel,  that—" 
The  very  sound  of  his  voice,  with  its  harsh  con- 
sonants and  its  absurd   repetitions  of  the  milirar-, 
title,  grated  insufferably  on  Ashle/'s  ear.     He  \va.. 
beyond  himself  although  he  seemed  cool. 

310 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


"My  good  fellow,  I  don't  care  a  hang  what  you'd 
a  great  deal  rather." 

Ashley  lit  a  fresh  cigarette  v.ith  the  end  of  the  old 
one,  throwing  the  stump  into  the  river  almost 
across  Davenant's  face,  as  the  latter  walked  the 
nearer  to  the  railing. 

The  .American  turned  slightly  and  looked  down. 
The  action,  taken  in  conjunction  with  his  height 
and  size  and  his  refusal  to  be  moved,  intensified 
Ashley's  rage,  which  began  now  to  round  on  him- 
self. Even  the  monotonous  tramp-tramp  of  their 
footsteps,  as  the  Embankment  became  more  deserted, 
got  on  his  nerves.  It  was  long  before  Da\enant 
made  a  new  attempt  to  fulfil  his  mission. 

"In  saying  what  I  said  just  now,"  he  began,  in 
what  he  tried  to  make  a  reasonable  tone,  "I've  no 
ax  to  grind  for  myself.     If  .Miss  Guion— " 

'"We'll  leave  that  name  out,"  .Ashler  cried, 
sharply.     "Only  a  damned  cad  would  introduce  it." 

Though  the  movement  with  which  Davenant 
swung  his  left  arm  through  the  darkness  and  with 
the  back  '.',  his  left  hand  struck  Ashley  on  the 
mouth  was  so  sudden  as  to  surprise  no  one  more 
than  himself,  it  came  with  all  the  cumulative  effect 
ot  twenty-four  hours'  brooding.  The  same  might 
be  said  of  the  spring  with  which  Ashley  bounded 
on  his  adversary.  It  had  the  agility  and  strength 
"t  a  leopard's.  Before  Davenant  had  time  to 
realize  what  he  had  done  he  found  himself  staggering 
—hurled  against  the  iron  railing,  which  threatened 
to  give  w-^y  beneath  his  weight.  He  had  not  taken 
breath  when  he  was  flung  agam.     In  the  dim  light 


I 


^ 


'■4 


lS 


ll*':" ' 


I  ft  *  J*' '! ' ' 


\  II.  A 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

of  the  electrics  he  could  see  tht  glare  in  Ashlev's 
eyes  and  hear  him  panting.  Davenant,  too,  panted, 
but  his  wrath  that  had  flared  up  Hke  a  rocket 
had  already  come  down  like  a  stick. 

"Look  here,"  he  stammered;  "we — we — c-can'r 
do  this  sort  of  thing." 

Ashley    fell    back.     He,    too,   seemed    to    realize 
quickly  the  folly  of  the  situation.     When  he  spoke 
it  was  less  in  anger  than  in  protest. 
"By  God,  you  struck  me!" 

"I  didn't  know  it.  Colonel,  If  I  did,  we're  quits 
on  it — because — because  you  insulted  me.  Perhaps 
3'ou  didnt  know  that.  I'm  willing  to  think  you 
didn't— if  you'll  only  believe  that  the  whole  thini>; 
has  been  a  mistake— a  damned,  idiotic,  torn-fool 
mistake." 

The  words  had  their  efl^ect.  Ashley  fell  back  still 
farther.  There  was  a  sinking  of  his  head  and  a 
shrinking  of  his  figure  that  told  of  reaction  from  the 
moment  of  physical  excess. 

A  roadside  bench  was  visible  beneath  an  arc- 
lamp  but  a  few  yards  away.  "Come  and  sit  down," 
Davenant  said,  hoarsely.  He  found  it  difficult  to  speak. 
Ashley  stumbled  along.  He  sat  down  heavil\ , 
like  a  man  spent  with  fatigue  or  drink.  With  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands, 
while  his  body  rocked. 

Davenant  turned  away,  walking  down  the  Em- 
bankment. He  walked  on  for  fifty  or  sixty  yards. 
He  himself  felt  a  curious  sense  of  being  battered  and 
used  up.  His  heart  pounded  and  the  perspiration 
stood  on  his  brow.     Putting  his  hand  to  his  collar. 

312 


:  still 
nd  a 
n  tilt- 


THE    STREET    CAIAJED_STRAIGHT 

he  found  his  evening  cravat  awry  and  his  waistcoat 
pulled  out  of  shape 


He  grasped  the  rail,  as  if  for 


looking  off 


ipport, 

with  unseeing  eyes  into  the  night.  Lights  along  the 
river-side  were  reflected  in  the  water;  here  and  there 
a  bridge  made  a  long  low  arch  of  lamps;  more  lights 
sprinkled  the  suburban  hills,  making  a  fringe  to  the 
pail  of  stars.  They  grew  pale,  even  while  he  looked 
at  them,  as  before  a  brighter  radiance,  and  he  knew 
that  behind  him  the  moon  was  coming  up.  He 
thought  of  the  moonrise  of  the  previous  evening, 
when  Olivia  Guion  had  walked  with  him  to  the  gate 
and  let  her  hand  rest  in  his.  He  recalled  her  words, 
as  he  had  recalled  them  a  hundred  times  that  day] 
"  The  man  I  care  for:'  He  went  back  over  each 
phase  of  their  conversation,  as  though  it  was  some- 
thing he  was  trying  to  learn  by  heart.  He  remem- 
bered her  longing  for  her  aunt  de  Melcourt. 

All  at  once  he  struck  the  railing  with  the  energy 
of  a  man  who  has  a  new  inspiration.  "  By  George!" 
he  said,  half  aloud,  "that's  an  idea— that's  certainly 
an  idea!  I  wonder  if.  .  .  .  The  Indiana  sailed 
last  week  ...  it  ought  to  be  the  turn  of  the  Louisiana 
the  day  after  to-morrow.  By  George,  I  believe  I 
could  make  it  if  .  .  ." 

He  hurried  back  to  the  bench  where  Ashley  was 
still  sitting.  The  latter  was  upright  now,  his  arm 
stretched  along  the  back.     He  had  lit  a  cigarette. 

Davenant  approached  to  within  a  few  feet.  "  Look 
Here,  Colonel,"  he  said,  gently,  "we've  got  to  for- 
iiet  this  evening." 

It  was  a  minute  or  two  before  Ashley  said :  "What's 

313 


1 1 


H 


% 


Ill 


[^  f 


Hi, 


I  ( 


kh  < 


'M 


I  i;'' 


i 


■,   \  f 


i  I 


!i 


Where?" 
-for  some  litrl 


THE    ST  REE  T    CALLED    STRAI G II 

the  good  of  forgettinp;  one  thing  when  there  art  s 
many  others  to  rememher?" 

"Perhaps  we  can  forget  them,  too — one  by  om 
I   ^,uess  you  haven't   understood   me.     I  •'   re  sa\ 
haven't   understood  yow,  either,   though    1    think 
could  if  you'd  give  me  a  chance.     But  all  I  want  r 
sav  is  this,  that  I'm    -off — " 

Ashley  turned  quickly.     "Off? 

"Where  we're  not  hkely  to  meet- 
time — again." 

"Oh,  but  I  sa}!     You  can't—" 

"Can't  what.  Colonel.''" 

"Can't  drop — drop  out  of  the  running— damn  i 
all,  man!  you  can't —you  can't— let  it  be  a  walk 
ovei  for  mc — after  all  that's—" 

"That's  where  you've  made  your  mistake,  Coloiul 
I  guess.  You  thought  there  was — was  a — a  r;icc 
so  to  speak — and  that  I  was  in  it.     Well,  I  wasn't? 

"But  what  the  deuce — V 

"I  not  only  wasn't  in  it— but  there  was  no  ruci 
There  never  was.  It  was  a  walk-over  for — for  soni^ 
one — from  the  start.   Now  I  guess  I'll  say  good  night.' 

He  turned  away  abruptly,  but,  having  taken  a  fcv 
steps,  came  back  again. 

"Look  here!     Let's  have  a  cigarette." 

Ashley  fumbled  for  his  case,  opened  it,  and  hih 
it  up.     "I  say,  take  two  or  three." 

As  Ashley  lifted  the  one  he  was  smoking  to  stivt 
as  a  light  Davenant  noticed  that  the  hand  trembled, 
and  steadied  it  in  the  grasp  of  his  own. 

"Thanks;  and  good  night  again,"  he  said,  bricH}, 
as  he  strode  finally  away  into  the  darkness. 

314 


XX 


familiar. 


jT  was  not  till    the  motor  had   actually 
got   out   of  Havre   and  was  well    along 
the   dusty   white    road    to    the   chateau 
that    Davenant     began     to    have     mis- 
givings.     Up    to    that    point    the    land- 
marks—and   the    sea-marks— had    been 
On   board   the  Louisiana,   in   London,  in 
Paris,  even   in    Havre,   he   had   felt   himself  on   his 
accustomed   beat.      On    steamers   or   trains   and    in 
hotels  he  had   that   kind   of  confidence    in    himself 
which,  failing  him  somewhat  whenever  he  entered 
the  precincts  of  domestic  life,  was  sure  to  desert  him 
altogether  now,  as  he  approached  the  strange  and 
inipcjsing. 
"Madame  est  a  la  campagne." 
A  hlack-e\ed  old  woman  had  told  him  so  on  the 
previous    day.     For    the    instant    he    was    relieved, 
since  it  put  off  the  moment  of  confronting  the  great 
ladv  a  little  longer. 

He  had,  in  fact,  rung  the  bell  at  the  frowning 
portal  in  the  rue  de  I'Universite  with  some  trepida- 
tion. Suggestions  of  grandeur  and  mystery  beyond 
anything  he  was  prepared  to  meet  lay  within  these 
scvmmgly  fortified  walls.  .At  the  same  time  it  gave 
ujorv-  to  the  trlam.o 


M: 


giam.our  m 


!,;..K  ,-1 


the  imaiit 


)f  01 


ivia 


J'3 


t 


%#«*! 


U 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRJlClj 

Guion  always  appeared  to  him  to  think  she  had  pass 
and  repassed  these  solemn  gates  at  will,  and  rh 
the  statelv  Louis  Quinze  hott-l,  of  which  the  ni 
cierge  allowed  him  a  ghmpse  across  the  court\  ;n 
had,  on  and  off,  been  her  home  for  \  ears.  It  was  o 
more  detail  that  removed  her  beyond  his  sphi 
and  made  her  inaccessible  to  his  yearnings. 

From  the  obliging  post-office  clerk  at  the  b;n 
on  which  he  drew  —a  gentleman  posted  in  the  mov 
ments  of  all  distinguished  Americans  on  the  co 
tinent  of  Europe  -he  learned  that  "la  campa^iu 
for  the  Marquise  de  Melcourt  meant  the  chatr; 
of  Melcourt-le-Danois  in  the  neighborhood  of  I  la 
fleur.  He  was  informed,  moreover,  that  by  takir 
the  two-o'clock  train  to  Havre  he  could  sleep  th 
night  at  the  Hotel  Frascati,  and  motor  out  to  Mi 
court  easily  within  an  hour  in  the  morning, 
began  then  to  occur  to  him  that  what  had  prescntt 
itself  at  first  as  a  prosaic  journey  from  Boston  i 
Paris  and  back  was  becoming  an  adventure,  with 
background  of  castles  and  noble  dames. 

Nevertheless,  he  took  heart  for  the  run  to  Havn 
and  except  for  feeling  at  twilight  the  wistfulncss  rh;i 
comes  out  of  the  Norman  landscape— the  nular 
cho'y  of  things  forgotten  but  not  gone,  dead  bur  n 
brooding  wraith-like  over  the  valley  of  the  Stint 
haunting  the  hoary  churches,  and  the  turatc 
chateaux,  and  the  windings  of  the  river,  and  the  lun 
lines  of  poplar,  and  the  villages  and  forests  am 
orchards  and  corn-fields  except  for  this,  his  spirit 
were  good.  If  now  atul  then  he  was  appalkJ  a 
what  he,  a  shy  fellow   wirh  no  antecedents   to  ac 

316 


I 

I 
■I 

f 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIC/l T 

ommend  him  and  no  persuasive  powers,  had  un- 
dertaken, he  thought  of  Olivia  (]uion.  The  tliinfr 
he  was  attempting  hecame  trivial  when  compared 
with  the  possihie  benerirs  to  her. 

That  reflection,  too,  enabled  him  to  come  vic- 
roriousl}'  out  of  three  long  hours  of  inward  wrcsthng 
-three  long  hours  spent  on  the  jett\  which  thrust 
itself  into  the  sea  just  outside  his  hotel  at  Havre. 
He  supposed  he  had  already  fought  the  battle  with 
himself  and  won  it.  Its  renewal  on  the  part  of  powers 
within  his  soul  took  him  by  surprise. 

He  had  strolled  out  after  dinner  to  the  Chaussee 
dcs  Etats-Unis  to  while  away  the  time  before  going 
to  bed.     Ships  and  sailors,  with  the  lights  and  sights 
and  sounds  of  a  busy  port,  had  for  him  the  fascina- 
tion  they   e.xert   over   most   men   who   lead    rather 
sedentary  lives.     At  that  time  in  the  evening  the 
Chaussee  des  £tats-Unis  was  naturally  gay  with  the 
landsman's  welcome   to   the   sailor  on   shore.     The 
cafes  were  crowded  both  inside  and   out.     Singing 
came  from  one  and  the  twang  of  an  instrument  from 
another,  all  along  the  quay.     Soldiers  mingled  fra- 
ternally   with    sailors,    and    pretty    young    women, 
mostly   bareheaded    and    neatly   dressed    in    black, 
mingled  with   both.     It  was  what  a   fastidious  ob- 
server of  life    might    call    "low,"    but    Davenant's 
judgments  had  no  severity  of  that  kind.     He  looked 
ar  the  merry  groups,  composed  for  the  most  part  of 
chance    acquaintances,    here    to-day    and    gone    to- 
morrow,  swift   and    light   of  love.'  with    a   curious 
craving    for    fellowship.     From    the    gatherings    of 
friends  he  felt  himself  invariably  the  one  shut  out. 

317 


i 


1? 


il 


■'f^m^g^^^^^^^f^^m^-t 


"AK^?: 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGIl 

It  was  this  sense  of  exclusion  that  finally  sent  hi 
away  from  the  cheerful  quay  to  wander  down  the  jet 
which  marks  the  line  where  the  Harbor  of  Grac 
with  its  intricate  series  of  basins  and  docks,  becom 
the  sea.  It  was  a  mild  night,  though  the  waves  be 
noisily  enough  against  the  bastions  of  the  pier,  i 
intervals  he  was  swept  by  a  scud  of  spray.  / 
sorts  of  acrid  odors  were  in  the  wind — smells  of  t 
and  salt  and  hemp  and  smoke  and  oil — the  perfum 
of  sea-hazard  and  romance. 

Pulling  his  cap  over  his  brows  and  the  collar 
his  ulster  about  his  ears,  he  sat  down  on  the  stoi 
coping.  His  shoulders  were  hunched;  his  han^ 
hung  between  his  knees.  He  did  not  care  to  smok 
For  a  few  minutes  he  was  sufficiently  occupied 
tracing  the  lines  and  the  groupings  of  lights.  He  h; 
been  in  Havre  more  than  once  before,  and  kiu 
the  quai  de  Londres  from  the  quai  de  New  Yor 
and  both  from  the  quai  du  Chili.  Across  the  mom 
of  the  Seine  he  could  distinguish  the  misty  racliam 
which  must  be  Trouville  from  that  which  must  1 
Honfleur.  Directly  under  his  eyes  in  the  Avar 
Port  the  dim  hulls  of  steamers  and  war-ships,  fishini 
boats  and  tugs,  lay  like  monsters  asleep. 

There  was  no  reason  why  all  this  should  make  h:i 
ti'el  outide  the  warm  glow  and  life  of  things;  bur 
did.  It  did  worse  in  that  it  inspired  a  longing;  fi 
what  he  knew  positively  to  be  unattainable.  I 
stirred  a  new  impulse  to  fight  for  what  he  had  cKf 
nitely  given  up.  It  raised  again  questions  he  thoiiizli 
he  had  answered  and  revived  hopes  he  had  nc\  cr  ha 
to  quench,  since  from  the  beginning  they  were  vair 

318 


f'    'iiiAf    •> 


'^j-m^Mm^mm^ 


n 


THE    STREET    CALLED^  STRAIGHT 

Were  they  vain?     In  taking  this  form  the  query 
became   more   msidious— more   difficult   to    debate 
and  settle  once  for  all.     To  every  argument  there 
was  a  perpetually  recurring,  "Yes,  but—"  with  the 
memory  of  the  mstants  when  her  hand  rested  in  his 
longer  than  there  was  any  need  for,  of  certain  looks 
and  lights  m  her  eyes,  of  certain   tones  and  half- 
tones in  her  voice.     Other  men  would  have  made 
these  things  a  beginning,  whereas  he  had  taken  them 
as  the  end.     He  had  taken  them  as  the  end  by  a  fore- 
gone conclusion      They  had  meant  so  much  to  him 
that   he   couldn  t   conceive   of  asking   more,   when 
perhaps  they  were  nothing  but  the  first  fruits. 

The  wmd  increased  in   violence;   the  spray  was 
salt  on  his  rnustache,  and  clung  to  the  nap  of  his 
dothmg.     The  radiance  that  marked  Trouville  and 
Honfleur  grew  dim  almost  to  extinction.     Along  the 
quay  the  cafes  began   to  diminish   the  number  of 
their  lights.     The  cheerful  groups  broke  up,  strolling 
home  to  the  mansard  or  to  the  fo'castle,  with  bursts 
ot  drunken  or  drowsy  song.     Davenant  continued 
to  Sit   crouched,    huddled,    bowed.     Ke   ceased    to 
argue,  or  to  follow  the  conflict  between  self-interest 
and  duty,  or  to  put  up  a  fight  of  any  kind.     He  was 
content  to  sit   still   and   sufl^er.      In   its   own   way 
suffering  was  a  relief.     It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
given  It  a  chance  since  he  had  brought  himself  to 
facing  squarely  the  fact  of  his  useless,  pointless  love. 
He  had  always  dodged  it  by  finding  something  to  be 
done,  or  choked  it  down  by  sheer  force  of  will.     Now 
he  let  It  rush  m  on  him,  all  through  him,  all  over 
mm,  Hooding  his  mind  and  spirit,  making  his  heart 

319 


/    'ft 


■X' 


\ 


w^^^l^^^^^^^ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGII 

swell  and  his  blood  surge  and  his  nerves  ache  and  h 
limbs  throb  and  quiver.  If  he  could  have  formed 
thought  it  would  have  been  that  of  the  Hebrc 
Psalmist  when  he  felt  himself  poured  out  like  wate 
He  had  neither  shame  for  his  manhood  nor  alan 
for  his  pride  till  he  heard  himself  panting,  pantln 
raucously,  with  a  sound  that  was  neither  a  moan  n( 
a  sob,  but  which  racked  him  convulsively,  whil 
there  was  a  hot  smarting  in  his  eyes. 

But  in  the  end  he  found  relief  and  worked  h 
way  out  to  a  sort  of  victory.  That  is  to  sa}',  li 
came  back  to  see.  as  he  had  seen  all  along,  that  tlitr 
was  one  clear  duty  to  be  done.  If  he  loved  Olivi 
Guion  with  a  love  that  was  worthy  to  win,  it  mm 
also  be  with  a  love  that  could  lose  courageousI\ 
This  was  no  new  discovery.  It  was  only  a  fac 
which  loneliness  and  the  craving  to  be  sometliin 
to  her,  as  she  was  everything  to  him,  had  caused  hir 
for  the  moment  to  lose  sight  of.  But  he  came  bat- 
to  it  with  conviction.  It  was  conviction  that  gav 
him  confidence,  that  calmed  him,  enabling  him,  a 
a  clock  somewhere  struck  eleven,  to  get  up,  sliak 
the  sea-spray  from  his  person,  and  return  to  hi 
hotel. 

It  was  while  he  was  going  to  bed  that  RodiuM 
Temple's  words  came  back  to  him,  as  they  did  fron 
time  to  time:  "Some  call  it  God." 

I  wonder  if  it  is — God,"  he  questioned. 

But  the  misgiving  that  beset  him,  as  he  motosti 
out  of  Havre  in  the  morning,  was  of  another  kin.l 
It  was  that  which  attaches  to  the  unlikely  and  tlu 

'J  20 


^^w^ 


THE    STREET    CALLEn_RTj^^j^jj^ 

queer.  Once  having  plunged  into  a  country  road 
away  from  railways  and  hotels,  he  felt  himself 
startmg  on  a  wild-goose  chase.  His  assurance  waned 
in  proportion  as  conditions  grew  stranger.  In  vain 
an  obliging  chauffeur,  accustomed  to  enliehten 
tourists  as  to  the  merits  of  this  highway,  pointed 
out  the  fact  that  the  dusty  road  along  which  they 

rL  Kn^H   °"  fV"u  T\  '?  "^^"^^  >'^^^^  ago-been 
the  border  of  the  bed  of  the  Seine,  that  the  white 
c  iffs  towering  above  them  on  the  left,  and  edged 
along   the   top   with    verdure,    marked   the   natural 
bnnk  of  the  river,  ind  that  the  church  so  admirably 
placed  on  a  hillside  was  the  shrine  of  a  martyred 
maiden  saint,  whose  body  had  come  ashore  here  at 
Oraville   having  been  flung  into  the  water  at  Har- 
fleur      Davenant  was  deaf  to  these  interesting  bits 
of  information,     rie  was  blind,  too.     He  was  blind 
to  the  noble  sweep  of  the  Seine  between  soft  green 
hills.     He  was  blind   to  the  craft  on  its   bosom- 
steamers  laden  with  the  produce  of  orchard  and  the 

I'/rA     r/    ^^  n'^'.^^'^:"^^""    brigantines,   weird 
^^The  Flying  Dutchman  in  their  black  and  white 
paint,  carrying  ice  or   lumber   to    Rouen;    fishing- 
boats  with  red  or  umber  sails.     He  was  bhnd  to  the 
villages    clambering  over  cliffs  to  a  casino,  a  plage, 
and  a  Hotel  des  Bains,  or  nestling  on  the'  uj^ands 
round  a   spire.     He  was   blind   to   the  picturesque 
u)oded  gorges    through  which  little  tributaries  of 
n.  great  river  had  once  run  violently  down  from  the 
bl.-and  of  the  Pays  de  Caux.     He  was  blind  to 
^^  charms  of  Harfleur,  famous  and  somnolent,  on 
tne  banks  of  a  still  more  somnolent  stream.     He 


ir. 


.f<  I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGin 


■!•■' 


Ft 


^ 


|1    ~ 


resumed  the  working  of  his  faculties  only  when  tht 
chauffeur  turned  and  said: 

"Voila,  monsieur — voila  le  chateau  de  madamt  1j 
marquise." 

If  it  was  possible  for  Davenant's  heart  to  leap  and 
sink  in  the  same  instant,  it  did  it  then.  It  leaped  ;u 
the  sight  of  this  white  and  rose  castle,  with  its  towers 
and  donjon  and  keep;  it  sank  at  the  thought  that  Ik, 
poor  old  unpretentious  Peter  Davenant,  with  nc 
social  or  personal  passports  of  any  kind,  nv.st  force 
his  way  over  drawbridge  and  beneath  portcullis— 
or  whatever  else  might  be  the  method  of  entering  a 
feudal  pile — into  the  presence  of  the  chatelaine  whost 
abode  here  must  be  that  of  some  legendary  princess, 
and  bend  her  to  his  will.  Stray  memories  came  to 
him  of  Siegfrieds  and  Prince  Charmings,  with  a 
natural  gift  for  this  sort  of  thing,  but  only  to  make 
his  own  appearance  in  the  role  the  more  ab- 
surd. 

Melcourt-le-Danois  had  that  characteristic  which 
goes  with  all  fine  and  fitting  architecture  of  springing 
naturally  out  of  the  soil.  It  seemed  as  if  it  nuisr 
always  have  been  there.  It  was  as  difiicult  to  imag- 
ine the  plateau  on  which  it  stood  without  it  as  to 
see  Mont  Saint  Michel  merely  as  a  rocky  islet. 
The  plateau  crowned  a  white  bluff  running  out  hke 
the  prow  of  a  Viking  ship  into  a  bend  of  the  Seine, 
commanding  the  river  in  both  directions.  It  was 
clear  at  a  glance  that  when  Roger  the  Dane  laid 
here  the  first  stone  of  his  pirates'  stronghold,  to  pro- 
tect his  port  of  Harfleur,  the  salt  water  must  have 
dashed  right  up  against  the  chalky  cliff;  but  the  cen- 

322 


wm^t 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

turies  during  which  the  silt  of  the  Vosges  had  been 
carried  down  the  river  and  piled  up  against  the  rocks 
at  Its  mouth,  had  driven  the  castle  inland  for  an 
eighth  of  a  mile.  Melcourt-le-Danois  which  had 
once  looked  down  into  the  very  waves  now  dominated 

'"  ^^^  ,V?  ■^'''''f  ^  '^"P  ""^  gardens,  and  orchards 
ot  small  fruit,  through  which  the  road  from  Har- 
fleur  to  the  village  of  Melcourt,  half  a  mile  farther 
up  the  Seine,  ran  like  a  bit  of  white  braid 

Viewed  from  the  summit  of  the  cliff  on  which 
Davenant's  motor  had  stopped,  the  chateau  was 
composed  of  two  ancient  towers  guarding  the 
long,  and  relatively  low,  relatively  modern,  brick 
mansion  of  the  epoch  of  Louis  Treize.  The  brick, 
once  red,  had  toned  down  now  to  a  soft  old  rose' 
the  towers,  once  white,  were  splashed  above  the  line 
to  which  the  ivy  climbed  with  rose  and  orange  Over 
the  tip  of  the  bluff  and  down  its  side  of  southern 
exposure,  toward  the  village  of  Melcourt,  ran  a  park 
of  oak  and  chestnut,  m  all  the  October  hues  of  yellow 
and  olive-brown. 

But  ten  minutes  later,  when  the  motor  had  made 
a  detour  round  cliffs  and  httle  inlets  and  arrived 
at  the  main  entrance  to  the  chateau,  Davenant 
tound  the  aspect  of  things  less  intimidating.  Through 
a  high  wrought-iron  grille,  surmounted  by  the  head 
of  an  armorial  beast,  he  had  the  view  of  a  Lenotre 
fiarden,  all  scrolls  and  arabesques.  The  towers 
which  at  a  distance  had  seemed  part  of  a  continuous 
whole,  now  detached  themselves.  The  actual  -esi- 
dence  was  no  n  ^e  imposing  than  any  good-sized 
nouse  in  America.     Davenant  understood  the  chauf- 


%■[: 


If! 


:r^.„ 


i  , 


i    *i 


t-  1 


1^, 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGin 

feur    to    say    that    "Madame    la    marquise    I'avait 
modernise  jusqu'au  bout  des  ongles." 

Having  summoned  up  courage  to  ring  the  bell, 
he  found  it  answered  by  a  middle-aged  woman 
with  a  face  worn  by  time  and  weather  to  the  pol- 
ished grooves  and  creases  to  which  water  wears  a 
rock. 

"On  ne  visite  pas  le  chateau." 
She  made  the  statement  with  the  stony,  im- 
personal air  of  one  who  has  to  say  the  same  thing 
a  good  many  times  a  year.  Davenant  pressed  clost- 
to  the  grille,  murmuring  something  of  which  she 
caught  the  word  "Madame." 

"Madame  la  marquise  n'est  pas  visible." 
The  quick  Norman  eye  had,  however,  noticed 
the  movement  of  Davenant's  hand,  detecting  dure 
something  more  than  a  card.  In  speaking  she  edged 
nearer  the  grille.  Thrusting  his  fingers  between 
the  curves  of  the  iron  arabesques,  he  said,  in  his  btst 
French:  " Prenez" 

Measuring  time  by  the  pounding  of  his  heart 
rather  than  the  ticking  of  his  watch,  it  seemed  ro 
him  he  had  a  long  time  to  wait  before  the  woman 
reappeared,  handing  him  back  his  card  through  rhe 
openwork  of  the  grille,  saying  briefly:  "Madame  la 
marquise  ne  re9oit  pas."  Perhaps  it  was  the  crest- 
fallen look  in  the  blond  giant's  face  that  tempted  her 
to  add:  "Je  le  regrette,  monsieur." 

In  the  compassionate  tone  he  read  a  hint  that  a!I 
was  not  lost.  Scribbling  under  his  name  the  words: 
"  Boston,  Mass.  Very  urgent,"  he  once  more  passed 
the  card   through   the  grille,   accompanied   by  the 

3-4 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

manual  act  that  had  won  the  woman's  sympathy  in 
the  first  place. 


"Jllez,  please,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "and — vite." 
He  found  his  penciled  words  effective,  for  pres- 
ently the  woman  came  back.  "Venez,  monsieur," 
she  said,  as  she  unlocked  the  grille  with  a  large  key 
carried  beneath  her  apron.  Her  stony  official  man- 
ner had  returned. 

As  he  drew  near  the  house  a  young  man  sketching 
or  writing  under  a  yew-tree  looked  up  curiously. 
A  few  steps  farther  on  a  pretty  girl,  in  a  Leghorn 
hat,  clipping  roses  into  a  basket,  glanced  at  him 
with  shy,  startled  eyes.  In  the  hall,  where  he  was 
left  standing,  a  young  officer  in  sky-blue  tunic  and 
red  breeches,  who  had  been  strumming  at  a  piano  in 
an  adjoining  room,  strolled  to  the  door  and  stared 
at  him.  A  thin,  black-eyed,  sharp-visaged,  middle- 
aged  lady,  dressed  in  black  and  wearing  a  knitted 
shawl— perhaps  the  mother  of  the  three  young 
people  he  had  just  seen— came  half-way  down  the 
strip  of  red  carpet  on  the  stairs,  inspected  him,  and 
went  up  again.  It  was  all  more  disconcerting  than 
he  had  expected. 

The  great  hall,  of  which  the  chief  beauty  was  in 
the  magnificent  sweep  of  the  monumesital  stair- 
way, with  its  elaborate  wrought-iron  balustrade, 
struck  him  as  a  forbidding  entry  to  a  home.  A  man- 
servant came  at  last  to  deliver  him  from  the  soft, 
wondering  eyes  of  the  young  officer,  and  lead  him 
into  a  room  which  he  had  already  recognized  as  a 
library  through  the  half-open  door. 

Here  he  had  just  time  to  get  a  blurred  impression 

3^5 


V: : 


I'l^,  ^iC^'i 


r 


t't 


STREET    CALLED    STRAIGII\ 


\n 


of  portraits,  busts,  Buhl  surfaces,  and  rich  or  ancien 
bindings — with  views  through  the  long  windows  a 
the  traffic  on  the  Seine — when  a  little  old  lady  ap 
peared  in  a  doorway  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room 
He  knew  she  was  a  little  old  lady  from  all  sorts  o 
indefinable  evidence,  in  spite  of  her  own  efforts  to  b 
young.  He  knew  it  in  spite  of  ^\:.'Xy  golden  hair  anc 
a  filmy,  youthful  morning  robe  that  displayed  tli( 
daintiness  of  her  figure  as  well  as  the  expensivencs 
of  her  taste. 

She  tripped  rapidly  down  the  long  room,  witl 
quick  little  steps  and  a  quick  little  swinging  of  tht 
arms  that  made  the  loose  gossamer  sleeves  blow  out 
ward  from  the  wrists.  He  recognized  her  instantl> 
as  the  Marquise  de  Melcourt  from  her  resemblance 
in  all  those  outlines  which  poudre  de  riz  and  cherry 
paste  could  not  destroy,  to  the  Guion  type.  Tht 
face  would  have  still  possessed  the  Guion  beauty, 
had  she  given  it  a  chance.  Looking  at  it  as  she 
came  nearer,  Davenant  was  reminded  of  things  he 
had  read  of  those  Mongolian  tribes  who  are  said  to 
put  on  masks  to  hide  their  fear  and  go  resolutely 
forth  to  battle.  Having  always  considered  this  a 
lofty  form  of  courage,  he  was  inconsistent  in  findinj; 
its  reflection  here— the  fear  of  time  beneath  these 
painted  cheeks  and  fluffy  locks,  and  the  fight  against 
it  carried  on  by  the  Marq  lise's  whole  brave  bearing 
— rather  pitifully  comic. 

Madame  herself  had  no  such  feeling.  She  wore 
her  mask  with  absolute  nonchalance,  beginning  to 
speak  while  still  some  yards  away. 

"Eh,  bien,  monsieur?" 

326 


vim 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Davenant  doubled  himself  up  into  a  deep  bow, 
but  before  he  had  time  to  stammer  out  some  apolo- 
getic self-introduction,  she  continued: 

"You've  come  from  Davis  and  Stern,  I  suppose, 
on  business.  I  always  tell  them  not  to  send  me 
people,  but  to  cable.  Why  didn't  they  cable.? 
They  know  I  don't  like  Americans  coming  here. 
I'm  pestered  to  death  with  them— that  is,  I  used 
to  be— and  I  should  be  still,  if  I  didn't  put  'em 
down." 

The  voice  was  high  and  chattering,  with  a  ten- 
dency to  crack.  It  had  the  American  quahty  with 
a  French  intonation.  In  speaking,  the  Marquise 
made  little  nervous  dashes,  now  to  the  right,  now  to 
the  left,  as  though  endeavoring  to  get  by  some  one 
who  blocked  her  way. 

"I  haven't  come  on  business,  my — my  lady." 

He  used  this  term  of  respect  partly  from  a  fright- 
ened desire  to  propitiate  a  great  personage  and 
partly  because  he  couldn't  think  of  any  other. 

"Then  what  have  you  come  on.?  If  it's  to  see  the 
chateau  you  may  as  well  go  away.  It's  never  shown. 
Those  are  positive  orders.  I  make  no  exceptions. 
They  must  have  told  you  so  at  the  gate.  But  you 
Americans  will  dare  anything.  Mon  Dieu,  quel 
tas  de  barbares!" 

The  gesture  of  her  hands  in  uttering  the  exclama- 
tion was  altogether  French,  but  she  betrayed  her 
oneness  with  the  people  she  reviled  by  saying- 
"Quel  tah  debah-bah!" 

"I  haven't  come  to  see  the  chateau  either,  mv 

lady—"  ^ 

327 


m 


!(  ■ 

i 

J 


Hf 


W 


*  1 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGIH 

"You  can  call  me  madame,"  she  interrupted,  no 
without  a  kindlier  inflection  on  the  hint. 

He  began  again.  "I  haven't  come  to  see  th( 
chateau,  either — madame.     I've  come  to  see  you.' 

She  made  one  of  her  little  plunges.  "Oh,  indeed 
Have  you?  I  thought  you'd  learned  better  than 
that— over  there.  You  used  to  come  in  ship-loads, 
but—" 

He  began  to  feel  more  sure  of  himself.  "When 
I  say  I  came  to  see  you,  madame,  I  mean,  I  came  ta 
— to  tell  you  something." 

"Then,  so  long  as  it's  not  on  business,  I  don't 
want  to  hear  it.  I  suppose  you're  one  of  Weaker 
Davenant's  boys.''  I  don't  consider  him  any  re- 
lation to  me  at  all.  It's  too  distant.  If  I  acknowl- 
edged all  the  cousins  forced  on  me  from  over  there 
I  might  as  well  include  Abraham  and  Adam.  Are 
you  the  first  or  the  second  wife's  son.?" 

He  explained  his  connection  with  the  Davenant 
name.  "But  that  isn't  what  I  came  to  talk  about, 
madame — not  about  myself.  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
of— of  your  nephew— Mr.  Henry  Guion." 

She  turned  with  a  movement  like  that  of  a  fleeing 
nymph,  her  hand  stretched  behind  her.  "Don';. 
I  don't  want  to  hear  about  him.  Nor  about  my 
niece.  They're  strangers  to  me.  I  don't  know 
them." 

"You'd  like  to  know  them  now,  madame — be- 
cause they're  in  great  trouble." 

She  took  refuge  behind  a  big  English  arm-chair, 
leaning  on  the  back. 

"I  dare  say.     It's  what  they  were  likely  to  come 

328 


^^^wlr^.:^r^i*^ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

to.  I  told  my  niece  so,  the  last  time  she  allowed  me 
the  privilege  of  her  conversation.  But  I  told  her, 
too,  that  in  the  day  of  her  calamity  she  wasn't  to 
look  to  me." 

"She  isn't  looking  to  you,  madame.  /  am.  I'm 
looking  to  you  because  I  imagine  you  can  help  her. 
There's  no  one  else — " 

"And  has  she  sent  you  as  her  messenger.?  Why 
can't  she  come  herself,  if  it's  so  bad  as  all  that— 
or  write.?  I  thought  she  was  married— to  some 
Englishman." 

"They're  not  married  yet,  madame;  and  unless 
you  help  her  I  don't  see  how  they're  going  to  be— 
the  way  things  stand." 

"Unless  I  help  her!  My  good  fellow,  you  don't 
know  what  you're  saying.  Do  you  know  that  she 
refused — refused  violently — to  help  me?" 

He  shook  his  head,  his  blue  eyes  betraying  some 
incredulity. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you.  It  'II  show  you.  You'll 
be  able  to  go  away  again  with  a  clear  conscience, 
knowing  you've  done  your  best  and  failed.  Sit 
down." 

As  she  showed  no  intention  of  taking  a  seat  her- 
self, he  remained  standing. 

"She  refused  the  Due  de  Berteuil."  She  made  the 
statement  with  head  erect  and  hands  flung  apart. 
"I  suppose  you  have  no  idea  of  what  that  meant  to 
nier" 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't." 

"Cr  course  you  haven't.  I  don't  know  an  Amer- 
ican who  would  have.     You're  so  engrossed  in  your 

329 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGII \ 

own  small  concerns.  None  of  \'ou  ha'c  any  con 
ception  of  the  things  that  really  matter— the  hiphi 
things.  Well,  then,  let  me  tell  you.  The  Due  d 
Berteuil  is— or  rather  cr^vj  -the  greatest  parti  ii 
France.  He  isn't  any  more,  because  they've  nKu 
tied  him  to  a  rich  girl  from  South  America  or  one  o 
those  places— brown  as  a  berry— with  a  bust  ' 
She  rounded  her  arms  to  give  an  idea  of  the  bust 
"Mais,  n'importe.  My  niece  refused  him.  Tlui 
meant — I've  never  confessed  it  to  any  one  befon 
I've  been  too  proud— but  I  want  you  to  undersr.uu 
—it  meant  my  defeat— my  final  defeat.  I  hadni 
the  courage  to  begin  again.  C'etait  le  desasrre 
C'etait  Sedan." 
"Oh,  madame!" 

It  seemed  to  him  that  her  mouth  worked  with  an 
odd  piteousness;  and  before  going  on  she  pur  up  a 
crooked  little  jeweled  hand  and  dashed  away  a 
tear. 

"It  would  have  been  everything  to  me.  It  wouKl 
have  put  me  where  I  belong,  in  the  place  I've  hten 
trying  to  reach  all  these  years.  The  life  of  an  Amci- 
ican  woman  in  Europe,  monsieur,  can  be  very  cruel. 
We've  nothing  to  back  us  up,  and  everything  to 
fight  against  in  front.  It's  all  push,  and  little  head- 
way. They  don't  want  us.  That's  the  plain  Kiiir- 
lish  of  it.  Thev  can't  imagine  why  we  leave  our 
own  country  and  come  over  here.  They're  .so  nar- 
row. They're  selfish,  too.  Everything  the\'vc  uor 
they  want  to  keep  for  themselves.  They  m.irrv 
us — the  Lord  only  knows  why! — and  nine  times  out 
of  ten  all  we  get  for  it  is  the  knowledge  that  we've 


THE    STREET    CJLLED_S TRJ/GII T 

been  bamboozled  out  of  our  own  dots.  There  was 
Rene  de  Lonchartres  who  married  that  goose  Annie 
Armstrong.  They  ridiculed  ...r  when  she  came  over 
here,  and  at  the  same  time  dapped  him  on  the  back 
for  having  got  her.  That's  as  true  as  you  live. 
It's  their  way.  They  would  have  ridiculed  me,  tool 
if  I  hadn't  been  determined  years  ago  to  beat  them 

on  their  own  ground.     I   could   have  done  it,  too, 

if — •' 

'Tf  it  had  been  worth  Vvliile,"  he  ventured. 

"You  know  nothing  about  it.  1  could  have  done 
It  if  my  niece  had  put  out  just  one  little  finger- 
when  I'd  got  everything  ready  for  her  to  do  it. 
^  es,  I'd  got  everything  ready— and  \  et  she  refused 
him.  She  refused  him  after  I'd  seen  them  all— his 
mother,  his  sisters,  his  two  uncles— one  of  them  in 
waiting  on  the  Due  d'Orleans— Philippe  V.,  as  we 
call  him-all  of  them  the  purest  old  noblesse  d'epee 
in  Normandy." 

Her  agitation  expressed  itself  again  in  little  dart- 
ings  to  and  fro.  "  I  went  begging  to  them,  as  you 
might  say.  I  took  all  their  snubs— and  oh!  so  fine 
some  of  them  were!— more  delicate  than  the  point 
of  a  needle!  I  took  them  because  I  could  see  just 
how  I  should  pay  them  back.  I  needn't  explain  to 
you  how  that  v  ild  be,  because  you  couldn't  under- 
stand. It  wou.  je  out  of  the  question  for  an  Amer- 
ican." 

"I  don't  think  we  are  good  at  returning  snubs, 
madame.     That's  a  '"act." 

'You're  not  f  -od  at  anything  but  making  money; 
and  you  make  that  blatantly,  as  if  you  were  the  first 

331 


fcJoELw 


I  ; 


1  ti 


MO   ^  I  1  i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

people  in  the  world  to  do  it.     Why,   France  and 
England  could  buy  and  sell  you,  and  most  of  you 
don't  know  it.     Mais,  n'importe.     I  went  begging 
to  them,  as  I've  told  you.     At  first  they  wouldn't 
hear  of  her  at  any  price — didn't  want  an  American. 
That  was  bluff,  to  get  a  bigger  dot.     I  had  counted 
on  it  in  advance.     I  knew  well  enough  that  they'd 
take  a  Hottentot  if  there  was  money  enough.     For 
the  matter  of  that,   Hottentot  and  American  arc 
much  the  same  to  them.     But  I  made  it  bluff  for 
bluff.     Oh,  I'm  sharp.     I  manage  all  my  own  affairs 
in  America — with  advice.     I've  speculated  a  little 
in  your  markets  quite  successfully.     I  know  how  I 
stand  to  within  a  few  thousand  dollars  of  your  mont\-. 
I  offered  half  a  million  of  francs.     They  laughed  at 
it.     I  knew  they  would,  but  it's  as  much  as  they'd 
get  with  a  French  girl.     I  went  to  a  million— to  a 
million  and  a  half— to  two  millions.     At  two  mil- 
lions— that  would  be — let  me  see — five  into  twenn- 
makes  four  -about  four  hundred  thousand  dollars 
of  your  money — they  gave  in.     Yes,  they  gave  in. 
I  expected  them  to  hold  out  for  it,  and  they  did.    Hut 
at  that  figure  the/  made  all  the  concessions  and  uavc 
in."  ^ 

"And  did  he  give  in.?"  Davenant  asked,  with 
naive  curiosity. 

"Oh,  I'd  made  sure  of  him  beforehand.  He  and 
I  understood  each  other  perfectly.  He  would  have 
let  it  go  at  a  million  and  a  half.  He  was  next  door 
to  being  in  love  with  her  besides.  All  he  wantt  d  was 
to  be  well  established,  poor  boy!  But  I  meant  to 
go  up  to  two  millions,  anyhow.     I  could  afford  it." 

332 


t2^'^-  ^Hv' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


.tenant ; 
lint  to 


er. 


"Four  hundred  thousand  dollars,"  Dav 
with  an  idea  that  he  might  convey  a 
"would  be  practically  the  sum—" 

"I  could  afford  it,"  she  went  on,  "because  of  those 
ridiculous   copper- mines  — the   Hamlet  and  Tecla 
I   wasn't    rich    before    that.      My   dot    was    small." 
No  Guion  I  ever  heard  of  was  able  to  save  money 
My  father  was  no  exception." 

"You  are  in  the  Hamlet  and  Tecla!"     Davenant's 
blue  eyes  were  wide  open.    He  was  on  his  own  ground 
1  he  history  of  the  Hamlet  and  Tecla  Mines  had 
been  ir.  his  own  lifetime  a  fairy-tale  come  true. 

Madame  de  Melcourt  nodded  proudly.  "My 
father  had  bought  nearly  two  thousand  shares  when 
luey  were  down  to  next  to  nothing.  They  came  to 
me  when  he  died.  It  was  mere  waste  paper  for  years 
and  years.  Then  all  of  a  sudden— pouff!— they 
began  to  go  up  and  up— and  I  sold  them  when  they 
were  near  a  thousand.  I  could  have  afforded  the 
two  millions  of  francs-and  I  promised  to  settle 
Melcourt-le-Danois  on  them  into  the  bargain,  when 
1— It  1  ever  should—  But  my  niece  wouldn't  take 
him-simply-would-not.  Ah,"  she  cried,  in  a 
strangled  voice,  "c'etait  trop  fort!" 

"But  did  she  know  you  were— what  shall  I  sav? 
—negotiating.?"  ' 

"She  was  in  that  stupid  England.  It  wasn't  a 
thing  I  could  write  to  her  about.  I  meant  it  as  a 
surprise.  When  all  was  settled  I  sent  for  her-and 
A  1,  V  ^^'  "monsieur,  vous  n'avez  pas  d'idee' 
Uuelle  scene!  Quelle  scene!  J'ai  failli  en  mourir."' 
^ne  wrung   her  clasped   hands  at  the  recollection. 


f; 


w 


Ill  t  <■ 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"That  girl  has  an  anger  Hke  a  storm.  Avec  tous 
ses  airs  de  reine  et  de  sainte — she  was  terrible.  Never 
shall  I  forget  it — jamais!  jam-ais!  au  grand  jamais! 
Et  puis,"  she  added,  with  a  fatalistic  toss  of  her 
hands,  "c'etait  fini.  It  was  all  over.  Since  then  — 
nothing!" 

She  made  a  little  dash  as  if  to  leave  him,  return- 
ing   to    utter  what    seemed    like    an    afterthought. 
"It  would   have  made  her.     It  would   have  made 
me.     We  could  have  dictated  to  the  Faubourg.     We 
could  have  humiHated  them— Hke  that."  Shestamptd 
her  foot.     "It  would   have   been   a   great   alliance 
— what  I've  been  so  much  in  need  of.     The  IVIelcourt 
— well,    they're   all   very  well — old   noblesse   de   l.i 
Normandie,  and  all  that — but  poor! — mais  pauvres! 
— and  as  provincial  as  a  cure  de  campagne.      When 
I  married  my  poor  husband — but  we  won't  go  into 
that — I've  been  a  widow  since  I  was  so  high — ever 
since  1870 — with  my  own  way  to  make.     If  my  niece 
hadn't  deserted  me  I  could  have  made  it.     Now  all 
that  is  past — fini-ni-ni!     The  clan  Berteuil  has  set 
the    Faubourg    against    me.     They've    the    power, 
too.      It's   all   so  intricate,   so   silent,   such  wheels 
within  wheels — but  it's  done.    They've  never  wanted 
me.     They   don't   want   any  of  us — not   for  our- 
selves.    It's    the    sou! — the    sou! — the    everlastini; 
sou!     Noble    or   peasant— it    makes    no    difference. 
But  if  my  niece  hadn't  abandoned  me — " 

"Why  shouldn't  you  come  home,  madame.'" 
Davenant  suggested,  touched  by  so  much  that  was 
tragic.  "You  wouldn't  find  any  one  after  the  sou 
there." 

334 


THE    STREET    C J IA,En__RT^_^jnirr 
"They're    all    about   me,"    she    whispered-" the 
Melcourt.     They  re  all  over  the  house.     They  come 
and  settle  on  me,  and  I  can't  shake  them  ofF     Thev 
suffocate  me— waiting  for  the  moment  when—    But 
I  ve  made  my  will,  and  some  'II  be  disappointed. 
Uh,   1    shall   leave    them    Melcourt-le-Danois      It's 
mme.     I  bought  it  with  my  own  money,  after  my 
husband  s  death,  and  restored  it  when  the  Hamlet 
and  1  ecla  paid  so  well.     It  shall  not  go  out  of  their 
family-for  my  husband's  sake.     But,"  she  added, 
\T   \  „"^'^'^^Vhall  the  money  go  out  of  mine. 
1  hey  shall  know  I  have  a  family.     It's  the  only  way 
by  which  I  can  force  the  knowledge  on  them.     They 
think  I  sprang  out  of  the  earth  like  a  mushroom. 
You  may  tell  my  niece  as  much  as  that-and  let 
her  get  all  the  comfort  from  it  she  can.     That's  all 
1  have  to  say,  monsieur.     Good  morning  " 

The  dash  she  made  from  him  seeming  no  more 
hnal  than  those  which  had  preceded  it,  he  went  on 
speaking. 

'T'm  afraid,  madame,  that  help  is  too  far  in  the 
tuture  to  be  of  much  assistance  now.  Besides  I'm 
not  sure  it's  what  they  want.  We've  managed  to 
keep  Mr.  Henry  Guion  out  of  prison.  That  danger 
IS  over.  Our  present  concern  is  for  Miss  Olivia 
Ouion  s   happiness." 

As  he  expected,  the  shock  calmed  her.  Notwith- 
standing her  mask,  she  grew  suddenly  haggard, 
though  her  eyes,  which-since  she  had  never  been 
able  to  put  poudre  de  riz  or  cherrr  paste  in  them— 
^^e^e  almost  as  fine  as  ever,  instantly  flashed  out  the 
signal  of  the  Guion  pride.     Her  fluffy  head  went  up 

335 


^J*'* 


mmm^^mi^Mm^j^[^iimm 


;  i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

and  her  little  figure  stiffened  as  she  entrenched  her- 
self again  behind  the  arm-chair.  Her  only  hint  of 
flinching  came  from  a  slackening  in  the  flow  of  speech 
and  a  higher,  thinner  quality  in  the  voice. 

"Has  my  nephew,  Henry  Guion,  been  doing  things 
— that — that  would  send  him — to  prison.?" 

In  spite  of  herself  the  final  words  came  out  with 
a  gasp. 

"It's  a  long  story,  madame — or,  at  least,  a  coni- 
p'icated  one.  I  could  explain  it,  if  you'd  give  me 
the  time." 

"Sit  down." 

They  took  seats  at  last.  Owing  to  the  old  lady 's 
possession  of  what  she  herself  called  a  business  mind 
he  found  the  tale  easy  in  the  telling.  Her  wits  being 
quick  and  her  questions  pertinent,  she  was  soon  in 
command  of  the  facts.  She  was  soon,  too,  in  com- 
mand of  herself  The  first  shock  having  passed, 
she  was  able  to  go  into  complete  explanations  with 
courage. 

"So  that,"  he  concluded,  "now  that  Mr.  Guion 
is  safe,  if  Miss  Guion  could  only  marry — the  man 
the  man  she  cares  for — everything  would  be  put  as 
nearly  right  as  we  can  make  it." 

"And  at  present  they  are  at  a  deadlock.  She 
won't  marry  him  if  he  has  to  sell  his  property,  and 
so  forth;  and  he  can't  marry  her,  and  live  in  dt  bt  to 
you.     Is  that  it.?" 

"That's  it,  madame,  exactly.  You've  put  it  in  a 
nutshell." 

She  looked  at  him  hardly.  "And  what  has  it  all 
got  to  do  with  me.?" 

336 


-fy^:^^-  gg^'g-  .^-    ^  ..t^y 


THE    STREET    CALLED_ST^jjr^fjT 

He  looked  at  her  steadily  in  his  turn.     "I  thought 
perhaps  you  wouldn't  care  to  live  in  debt  to  me 
either.  ' 

She  was  startled.    "Who?    I.?    En  voila  une  idee!" 
I  thought     he  went  on,  "that  possibly  the  Guion 
sense  of  family  honor — " 

"Fiddle-faddle!  There's  no  sense  of  family  honor 
among  Arnericans.  There  can't  be.  You  can  only 
have  family  honor  where,  as  with  us,  the  family  is 
tlie  unit;  whereas  with  you,  the  unit  is  the  individual 
1  he  American  individual  may  have  a  sense  of  honor- 
but  the  American  family  is  only  a  disintegrated  mush. 
What  you  really  thought  was  that  you  might  get 
your  money  back."  ^ 

"If  you  like,  madame.     That's  another  way  of 

putting  It      If  the  family  paid  me.  Miss  Guion  would 

teel  quite  differently-and  so  would  Colonel  Ashley  '^ 

When  you  say  the  family,"  she  sniffed,  "you 

mean  me.  ^ 

"In  the  sense  that  I  naturally  think  first  of  its 
most  distinguished  member.  And,  of  course,  the 
greater  the  distinction  the  greater  must  be— shall 
1  call  ,t  the  indignity.?— of  hving  under  an  obli- 
gation— 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  you  put  up  this  money- 
thats  your  American  term,  isn't  it?-that  you  put 
vou  back?°"^^  '"  ^^^  expectation  that  I  would  pay 

"Not  exactly.  I  put  up  the  money,  in  the  first 
place,  to  save  the  cred.t  of  the  Guion  name,  and  with 
the  mtcntion,  ,f  3  ou  didn't  pay  me  back,  to  do  with- 


r  I 


)ji 


.  ir/.- 


•.^'. 


t     ! 


i 


i    1 


i        < 


M      » 


'»! 


r//£    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"And  you  risked  being  considered  over-officious." 

"There  wasn't  much  risk  about  that,"  he  smiled. 
"They  did  think  me  so — and  do." 

"And  you  got  every  one  into  a  fix." 

"Into  a  fix,  but  out  of  prison." 

"Hm!" 

She  grew  restless,  uncomfortable,  fidgeting  wirli 
her  rings  and  bracelets. 

"And  pray,  what  sort  of  a  person  is  this  Eng- 
lishman to  whom  my  niece  has  got  herself  en- 
gaged.?" 

"One  of  their  very  finest,"  he  said,  promptly. 
"As  a  soldier,  so  they  say,  he'll  catch  up  one  day  with 
men  like  Roberts  and  Kitchener;  and  as  for  liis 
private  character — well,  you  can  judge  of  it  from  the 
fact  that  he  wants  to  strip  himself  of  all  he  has  so 
that  the  Guion  name  shall  owe  nothing  to  any  one 
outside — " 

"Then  he's  a  fool." 

"  From  that  point  of  view — ^yes.  There  are  fools 
of  that  sort,  madame.  But  there's  something  more 
to  him." 

He  found  himself  reciting  glibly  Ashley's  claims 
as  a  suitor  in  the  way  of  family,  position,  and  for- 
tune. 

"So  that  it  would  be  what  some  people  might  call 
a  good  match." 

"The  best  sort  of  match.  It's  the  kind  of  thing 
she's  made  for — that  she'd  be  happy  in — regiments, 
and  uniforms,  and  glory,  and  presenting  prizes,  and 
all  that." 

"Hm.     I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  it."    She 

338 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

rose  with  dignity.     "If  my  niece  had  only  held 
a  little  finger — " 


out 


'It 


was  a  case,  madame,"  he  argued,  rising,  too— 
It  was  a  case  in  which  she  couldn't  hold  out  a  little 
finger  without  ofFering  her  whole  hand." 

"You  know  nothing  about  it.  I'm  wrong  to  dis- 
cuss It  with  you  at  all.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why 
1  do,  except  that — " 

^^  "Except  that  I'm  an  American,"  he  suggested— 
one  of  your  own." 

"One  of  my  own!  Quelle  idOe!  Do  you  like 
him— this  Enghshman.?" 

He  hedged.     "Miss  Guion  likes  him." 

"But  you  don't." 
_^^I  haven't  said  so.     I  might  like  him  well  enough 

"If  you  got  your  money  back." 
He  smiled  and  nodded. 
"Is  she  in  love  with  him?" 
''Oh— deep!" 

''  How  do  you  know .?     Has  she  told  you  so .?" 
''Y-es;  I  think  I  may  say— she  has." 
"Did  you  ask  her.?" 

He  colured.     "I  had  rj— about  something." 
You   weren't   proposing   to   her  yourself,   were 

He   tried    to   take    this    humorously.      "Oh    no 

madame — "  ' 

"You  can't  be  in  love  with  her,  or  you  wouldn't 
be  trying  so  hard  to  marry  her  to  some  one  else— 
not  unless  you're  a  bigger  fool  than  you  look." 
I  hope  I'm  not  that,"  he  laughed. 


.   t^ 


I       il 


iSHSSktA 


,ii 


* 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Well,  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  it — noth- 
ing. Between  my  niece  and  me— tout  est  fini.  " 
She  darted  from  him,  swerving  again  like  a  bird  on 
the  wing.  "  I  don't  know  you.  You  come  here  with 
what  may  be  no  more  than  a  cock-and-bull  story, 
to  get  inside  the  chateau." 

"I  shouldn't  expect  you  to  do  anything,  madamc, 
without  verifying  all  I've  told  you.  For  the  matter 
of  that,  it  '11  be  easy  enough.  You've  only  to  write 
to  your  men  of  business,  or — which  would  be  better 
still— take  a  trip  to' America  for  yourself." 

She  threw  out  her  arms  with  a  tragic  gesture. 
"My  good  man,  I  haven't  been  in  America  for  forty 
years.  I  nearly  died  of  it  then.  What  it  must  be 
like  now — " 

"It  wouldn't  be  so  fine  as  this,  madame,  nor  so 
picturesque.  But  it  would  be  full  of  people  who'd 
be  fond  of  you,  not  for  the  sou— but  for  yourself." 

She  did  her  best  to  be  offended.  "You're  taking 
liberties,  monsieur.     C'est  bien  american,  cela." 

"Excuse  me,  madame,"  he  said,  humbly.  "I 
only  mean  that  they  are  fond  of  you— at  least,  I 
I  know  Miss  Guion  is.  Two  nights  before  I  sailed  I 
heard  her  almost  crying  for  you— yes,  almost  cryini;. 
Tha's  why  I  came.  I  thought  I'd  come  and  tdl 
you.  I  should  think  it  might  mean  something  to 
you— over  here  so  long— all  alone— to  have  some  one 
like  that— such  a— such  a— such  a  wonderful  }  oung 
lady  wanting  you— in  her  trouble—" 

"And  such  a  wonderful  young  man  wanting  his 
money  back.  Oh,  I'm  not  blind,  monsieur.  I  see 
a  great  deal  more  than  you  think.     I  see  through  and 

340 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

through  you.  You  fancy  you're  throwing  dust  in 
my  eyes,  and  you  haven't  thrown  a  grain.  PoufF! 
Oh,  la,  la!  Mais,  c'est  fini.  As  for  my  niece— le  boi. 
Dieu  r  a  bien  punie.  For  me  to  step  in  now  would 
be  to  mterfere  with  the  chastisement  of  Providence. 
Le  bon  Dieu  is  always  right.  I'll  say  that  for  Him. 
Good  morning."  She  touched  a  bell.  "The  man 
will  show  you  to  the  door.  If  you  like  to  stroll  about 
the  grounds— now  that  you've  got  in— well,  you 
can." 

With  sleeves  blowing  she  sped  down  the  room  as 
if  on  pinions.  The  man-servant  waited  respectfully. 
Davenant  stood  his  ground,  hoping  for  some  sign  of 
her  relenting.  It  was  almost  over  her  shoulder  that 
she  called  back: 

"Where  are  you  staying.'" 

He  told  her. 

"Stupid  place.  You'll  find  the  Chariot  d'Or  at 
Melcourt  a  great  deal  nicer.  Simple,  but  clean. 
An  old  chef  of  mine  keeps  it.  Tell  him  I  sent  you. 
And  ask  for  his  poularde  au  riz." 


Ei: 


m 


xxr 

I  HAT  do  you  think  of  him?" 

Ashley's    tone    indicated     some     un- 
certamty  as   to  what  he   thought   hi-n- 
self.     Indeed,  uncertainty  was  indicated 
elsewhere  than  in  his  tone.     It  seenud 
to  hang  about   him,  to  look  from  his 
eyes,  to  take  form  in  his  person.     Perhaps  this  was 
the  one  change  wrought  in  him  by  a  month's  residence 
m  America.     When  he  arrived  everything  had  be- 
spoken  him  a  man  aggressively  positive  with   tin- 
hab.t  of  being  sure.     His  very  attitude  now,  as  lu- 
sat  in  Rodnev  Temple's  office  in  the  Harvard  Gallerr 
of  tme  Arts    his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets,  his 
legs  stretched  apart,  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
suggested  one  who  feds  the  foundations  of  the  earth 
to  have  shifted. 

Rodney   Temple,    making    his    arrangements    for 
leaving  for  the  day,  met  one  question  with  anorht  r. 
What  doyouf' 

;;You  know  him,"  Ashley  urged,  "and  I  don'r.' 
1  thought  you  did.     I  thought  you'd  read  him 
right  ott — as  a  cow-puncher." 

"He  looks  like  one,  by  Jove!  and  he  speaks  l.ke 
What'"'"'  ''""''^"''    """^    ^'"^    ^   gentleman: 

34-2 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"If  you  mean  by  a  gentleman  one  who's  always 
been  able  to  take  the  best  in  the  world  for  granted, 
r  rhaps  he  isn't.  But  that  isn't  our  test— over 
here." 

"Then,  what  is.?" 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  could  tell  you  so  that  you'd 
understand— at  any  rate,  not  unless  you  .start  out 
with  the  fact  that  the  English  gentleman  and  the 
American  differ  not  only  in  species,  but  in  genus. 
I'd  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  they've  got  to  be  recog- 
nized by  different  sets  of  faculties.  "^  ou  get  at  your 
man  by  the  eye  and  the  ear;  we  have  to  use  a  subtler 
apparatus.  If  we  didn't  we  should  let  a  good  many 
go  uncounted.  Some  of  our  \  nest  are  even  more 
uncouth  with  their  consonants  than  good  friend 
Davenant.  They'd  drop  right  out  of  your  list,  but 
they  take  a  high  place  in  oars.  To  try  to  discern 
one  by  the  methods  created  for  the  other  is  like  what 
George  Eliot  says  of  putting  on  spectacles  to  detect 
odors.  Igriorance  of  this  basic  social  fact  on  both 
sides  has  given  rise  to  much  international  misiude- 
ment.     See?" 

"Can't  say  that  I  do." 

"No,  you  wouldn't.     But  until  you  do  you  won't 
understand  a  big  simple  type  -" 

\vi^  ^^"'^  ^^^^  ^  ^^"^'  ^^"'      ^'^  ^^^  simple  type. 
What  I  want  to  know  ib  how  to  take  him.     Is  he  a 

confounded  sentimentalist    -or  is  he  still  putrine  ud 
a  bluff?"  ^    ^ 

^|What  difference  does  it  make  ro  you?" 
"If  he's  putting  up  a  bluff,  he's  waiting  out  there 
at  Michigan  for  me  to  cail  ii.     If  he's  working  the 

343 


i  ■ 


m 


>c 


M 


i  1 


M 


THE    STRFET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

sentimental  racket,  then  I've  got  to  be  the  bene- 
ficiary of  his  beastly  good-will." 

"If  he's  putting  up  a  blufF,  you  can  fix  him  hy 
not  calling  it  at  all;  and  as  for  his  beastly  good-will, 
well,  he's  a  beneficiary  of  it,  too." 
"How  "O?" 

"Because  beastly  good-will  is  a  thing  that  curs 
both  ways.     He'll  get  as  much  out  of  it  as  you." 
"That's   all   very   fine — " 

"It's  very  fine,  indeed,  for  him.  We've  an  old 
saying  in  these  parts:  By  the  Street  called  Strai.'lir 
we  come  to  the  House  called  Beautiful.  It's  ont'of 
those  fanciful  saws  of  which  the  only  justification 
IS  that  It  works.  Any  one  can  test  the  truth  of  it 
by  taking  the  highway.  Well,  friend  Davcn.uit 
IS  taking  It.  He'll  reach  the  House  called  Beautiful 
as  Straight  as  a  die.  Don't  you  fret  about  thar. 
You  11  owe  him  nothing  in  the  long  run,  because  h.  11 
get  all  the  reward  he's  entitled  to.  When's  the  wed- 
ding?    Fixed  the  date  yet.?" 

"r^'^°^^°'"^  ^°  ^^  °"^'"  ^^^^^y  explained,  moodilr. 

One  of  these  days,  when  everything  is  settled  ..t 
lory  Hill  and  the  sale  is  over,  we  shall  walk  off  to 
the  church  and  get  married.  That  seems  to  be  the 
best  way,  as  matters  stand." 

"It's  a  very  sensible  way  at  all  times.  And  I 
hear  you're  carrj-ing  Henry  off  with  you  to  England  " 

Ashley  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Going  the  wliole 
hog.  What?  Had  to  make  the  offer.  Olivia  could- 
n  t  leave  him  behind.  Anything  that  will  make  her 
happy — " 

"Will  make  you  happy." 

344 


f  < 


:  r  . 


J 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it." 

Having  locked  the  last  drawer  and  put  out  the 

desk   light.   Temple   led    his   guest   down    the   long 

the  Yard  to  the  house  en  Charles- 

'  nursued  kindred  themes  ir  the 

finding  himself  alone  with 

■  .     n  alone  with  her  at  tea,  her 

'  ■  ;<  r  this  form  of  refreshment, 

u   !  reasons  for  being  absent. 

i^our   governor,"    Ashley   ob- 

self  comfortably  before   the 

,-^5  alone  lit  up  the  room. 


gallery 
hank. 
comp,>- 
her  ' 
fa  '  ' 
wiiiU  ii 


(1   .'I'-OSS 

!.  'c  AshI 


I'. 

■■M'T    '!  ) 


I   J 


hr 


ou 


seem  to  have  taken  a  fancy  to 


ser\    ', 
fire,      i;,. 

"Is  tl. 
him?" 

"I  like  to  hear  him  gassing.     Little  bit  like  the 
Bible,  don't  you  know." 

"He's  very  fond  of  the  Bible." 

'Seems  to  think  a  lot  of  that  chap — your  gover- 


nor 


>> 


A  nod  supposed  to  indicate  the  direction  of  the 
State  of  Michigan  enabled  her  to  follow  his  line  of 
thought. 

"He  does.  There's  something  rather  colossal 
about  the  way  he's  dropped  out — " 

"A  jolly  sight  too  colossal.  Makes  him  more  im- 
portant than  if  he'd  stayed  on  the  spot  and  fought 
the  thing  to  a  finish." 

"Fought  what  thing  to  a  finish.?" 

He  was  sorry  to  have  used  the  expression.  "Oh, 
there's  still  a  jolly  lot  to  settle  up,  you  know." 

"But  I  thought  everything  was  arranged —that 
30U  d  accepted  the  situation." 

345 


i 

E-  ^   I 

m 

1  »  *    4, 


\Mi 


(1 

Ii 


:  J, 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

He  stretched  himself  more  comfortably  before  the 
fire.     "We'd  a  row,"  he  said,  suddenly. 
''A  row?     What  kind  of  a  row?" 

"  A  street  row— just  like  two  hooligans.  He  struck 
me." 

"Rupert!"     She  half  sprang  up.     "He—" 

Ashley  swung  round  in  his  chair.     He  was  smiling. 

"Oh,  I  br^^  your  pardon,"  she  cried,  in  confusion! 

I  can't  think  what  made  me  call  you  that.     I  never 
f/o— never.     It  was  the  surprise— and  the  shock  -" 

"That's  all  right,"  he  assured  her.  "I  often  call 
you  Drusilla  when  I'm  talking  to  Olivia.  I  don't 
see  why  we  shouldn't— we've  always  been  such  pals 
—and  we're  going  to  be  a  kind  of  cousins—" 

"Tell  me  about  Peter." 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  much  that  stands  telling. 
VVe  were  two  idiots— two  silly  asses.  I  insultt^d 
h:m— and  he  struck  out.  I  called  him  a  cad— I  be- 
lieve I  called  him  a  damned  cad." 

"To  his  face?" 

"To  his  nose." 

"Oh,  you  shouldn't  have  done  that." 

VVe  pulled  off  in  a  second  or  two.  We  saw  .ve  were 
two  idiots— twn  k-  h.  It  wasn't  worth  getting  on 
one's  high  horse  about— or  attempting  to  follow  it 
up— It  was  too  beastly  silly  for  heroics— e.xcein  ti,;it 
—that  he—"  ' 

"Except  that  he— what?" 

"Except  that  he— got  the  better  of  me.  He  lias 
the  better  of  me  still.  And  I  can't  allow  that,  hr 
Jove!     Do  you  see?" 

346 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


it 


I  don' 


't  see  very  clearly.  In  what  way  did  he 
get  the  better  of  you  ?" 

"In  the  whole  thing— the  way  he  carried  it  off 
— the  whole  silly  business." 

"Then  I  don't  see  what's  to 


now. 


be 
bv 


done  about  it 
Jove!     I  can't 


But    I    can't 


go 


"Something's  got  to  be  done, 
let  it  go  at  that." 

"Well,  what  do  you  propose?" 

"I  don't  propose  anything, 
through  life  letting  that  fellow  stay. on  top.  Why, 
considering  everything— all  he's  done  for  Olivia  and 
her  father — and  now  this  other  thing— and  his 
beastly  magnanimity  besides— he's  frightfully  on 
top.  It  won't  do,  you  know.  But  I  say,  you'll 
not  tell  Olivia,  will  you.?  She'd  hate  it— about  the 
row,  I  mean.  I  don't  mind  your  knowing.  You're 
always  such  a  good  pai  to  me — " 

It  was  impossible  to  go  on,  because  Mrs.  Temple 
bustled  in  from  the  task  of  helping  Olivia  with  the 
packing  and  sacking  at  Tory  Hill.  Having  greeted 
Ashley  with  the  unceremoniousness  permissible 
with  one  who  was  becoming  an  intimate  figure  at 
the  fireside,  she  setf'ed  to  h'^r  tea. 

"Oh,  so  sad!"  she  reflected,  her  little  pursed-up 
mouth  twitching  nervously.  "The  dear  old  house  all 
dismantled!  Everything  to  go!  I've  asked  Henry  to 
come  and  stay  here.  It's  too  uncomfortable  for  him, 
with  all  the  moving  and  packing  going  on  around 
liim.  It  '11  be  easier  for  dear  Olivia,  too.  So  hard 
for  her  to  take  care  of  him,  with  all  the  other  things 
she  has  on  her  hands.     There's  Peter's  room.   Henry 

347 


.mid 


I 


\\ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGFT 

may  as  well  have  it.  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  se 
anything  more  of  Peter  for  ages  to  come.  But  I  d 
wish  he'd  write.  Don't  you,  Colonel  Ashley.?  I'v 
written  to  him  three  times  now— and  not  a  line  fron 
him!  I  suppose  they  must  be  able  to  get  letters  ou 
there,  at  Stoughton,  Michigan.  It  can't  be  so  fa 
beyond  civilization  as  all  that.  And  Olivia  wouk 
like  It.     She's  worried  about  him— about  his  no 

YT/"^,";:^"'^  everything.     Don't  you  think,  Colone 
Ashlev  i" 

^?Jj'ey  looked  blank.     "I  haven't  noticed  it-" 
Oh,  I  have.     A  woman's  eye  sees  those  little 
things    don't  you  think?     Men  have  so  much  on 
their  hands  -the  great  things  of  the  world— but  the 
little   things,   they  often  count,   don't  you   think' 
But  I   tell  dear  Olivia  not  to  worry.     Everything 
will    come    right.     Things    do    come    right  — very 
often.     I'm    more    pessimistic    than    Rodney— that 
1  must  say.     But  still  I  think  things  have  a  way 
of  coming  right  when  we  least  expect  it.     I  tell  dear 
Ohvia  that  Peter  will  send  a  line  just  when  we're 
not  looking  for  it.     It's  the  watched  pot  that  never 
boils,  you  know,  and  so  I  tell  her  to  stop  watch- 
ing   for   the   postman.     That's   fatal   to   getting  a 
letter— watching  fc.-  the  postman.     How  snug  vou 
two  look  here  together!     Well,  I'll  run  up  and  take 
ott  my  things.     No;  no  more  tea,  dear.     I  won't  sa.r 
good-by  Colonel  Ashley,  because  you'll  be  here  when 
1  come  down." 

Mrs.  Temple  was  a  good  woman  who  would  have 
been  astonished  to  hear  herself  accused  of  false- 
hood, but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  her  account  of  the  on- 

348 


^'53?r 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

versation  with  Olivia  bore  little  relation  to  the  con- 
versation itself.     What  she  had  actually  said  was: 

"Poor  Peter!  I  suppose  he  doesn't  write  because 
he's  trying  to  forget." 

The  challenge  here  being  so  direct,  Olivia  felt  it 
her  duty  to  take  it  up.  The  ladies  were  engaged  in 
sorting  the  linen  in  preparation  for  the  sale. 

"Forget  what.'"' 

"Forget  Drusilla,  I  suppose.  Hasn't  it  struck 
you — how  much  he  was  in  love  with  her?" 

Olivia  held  a  table-cloth  carefully  to  the  light. 
"Is  this  Irish  linen  or  German:  I  know  mamma  did 
get  some  at  Dresden — " 

Mrs.  Temple  pointed  out  the  characteristic  of  the 
Belfast  weave  and  pressed  her  question.  "Haven't 
you  noticed  it — about  Peter.''" 

^^  Olivia  tried  to  keep  her  voice  steady  as  she  said: 
"  I've  no  doubt  I  should  have  seen  it  if  I  hadn't  been 
so  preoccupied." 

"Some  people  think— Rodney,  for  instance — that 
he'd  lost  his  head  about  you,  dear;  but  we  mothers 
have  an  insight — " 

"Of  course!  There  seems  to  be  one  missing  from 
the  dozen  of  this  pattern." 

"Oh,  it  '11  turn  up.  It's  probably  in  the  pile  over 
there.  I  thought  I'd  speak  about  it,  dear,"  she  went 
on,  "because  it  must  be  a  relief  to  you  not  to  have 
that  complication.  Things  are  so  complicated 
already,  don't  you  think.?  But  if  you  haven't 
Peter  on  your  mind,  A^hy,  that's  one  thing  the  less 
to  worry  about.  If  you  thought  he  was  in  love  with 
you,  dear— in  your  situation— going  to  be  married 

349 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STR^jnn^ 

to  some  one  else—  But  you  needn't  be  afraid  , 
that  at  all.  I  never  saw  a  young  man  more  in  \o\ 
with  any  one  than  he  is  with  Drusilla— and  I  thin 
she  must  have  refused  him.  If  she  hadn't  he  woul 
never  have  shot  ofFin  that  way,  like  a  bolt  from  tli 

^^~    ,.   ^  "^^^^'^   ^^^  matter,   dear.?     You   loo 
white.     You're  not  ill.?" 

"It's  the  smell  of  lavender,"  Olivia  gasped,  wenk 

ly.        I  never  could  endure  it.     I'll  just  run  into  tli 
air  a  minute — " 

This  was  all  that  passed  between  Olivia  and  Mr^ 
lemple  on  the  subject.  If  the  latter  reported  i 
with  suppressions  and  amplifications  it  was  doubt- 
less due  to  her  knowledge  of  what  could  be  omirrc  c 
as  well  as  of  what  would  have  been  said  had  riu 
topic  been  pursued.  In  any  case  it  caused  htr  t. 
sigh  and  mumble  as  she  went  on  with  her  task  o| 
toldmg  and  unfolding  and  of  examining  textures  and 
designs: 

"Oh,  how  mixy!  Such  sixes  and  sevens!  Everv- 
thmg  the  wrong  way  round!  My  poor  Drusill,'  - 
my  poor  little  girlie!  And  such  a  good  pos.r.on! 
Just  what  she  s  capable  of  filling!-as  well  as  OWm 
-better,    with    all    her   experience   of  their   anm. 

Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost,'  dear  Tenn^  s.,n 
says;  but  I  don't  know.  Besides,  she's  done  rlu.r 
already-with  poor  Gerald-and  now,  to  have  to  lace 
It  all  a  second  time— my  poor  little  girlie!" 

As  for  Olivia,  she  felt  an  overpowering  desire  ro 
Hee  away.  Speeding  through  the  house,  wliere  w,.i  k- 
men  were  nailing  up  cases  or  sacking  rugs,she  fc  Ir  rhat 
shtwas  fleeing-fleeing  anywhere-anywhcre-to  hide 

350 


herself.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  flight  was  inward, 
for  there  was  nowhere  to  go  but  to  her  room  Her 
way  was  down  the  short  staircase  from  the  attic  and 
along  a  hall;  but  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  lived 
through  a  succession  of  emotional  stages  in  the  two 
or  three  minutes  it  took  to  cover  it  Her  first 
wild  cry  "It  isn't  true!  It  isn't  true!"  was  followed 
by  the  question  "Why  shouldn't  it  be  true?"  to  end 
with  her  asking  herself:  "What  difference  does  it 
make  to  mer 

"What  difFerence  can  it  make  to  me?" 
She  had  reached  that  form  of  the  query  bv  the 
time  she  took  up  her  station  at  the  window  of  her 
room,  to  stare  blankly  at  the  November  landscape. 
She  saw  herself  face  to  face  now  with  the  question 
which,  during  the  past  month,  ever  since  Davenant's 
sudden  disappearance,  she  had  used  all  her  resources 
to  evade.     That  it  would  one  day  force  itself  upon 
her  she  knew  well  enough;  but  she  hoped,  too,  that 
before  theie  was  time  for  that  she  would  have  pro- 
nouncedher  marriage  vows,  and  so  burned  her  bridges 
behind  her.     Amid  the  requirements  of  duty,  which 
seemed  to  shift  from  week  to  week,  the  one  thing 
stable  was  the  necessity    on  her  part  to  keep  her 
promise  to  the  man  who  had  stood  by  her  so  nobly 
If  once  It  had  seemed  to  her  that  Davenant's  de- 
mands-whatever they  might  prove  to  be-would 
override    all   others,    it   was    now   quite   clear    that 
Ashley  s  claim  on  her  stood  f^rst  of  all.     He  had  been 
so  loyal,  so  true,  so  indifferent  to  his  own  interests' 
iesides,  he  loved  her.     It  was  now  quite  another 
love  from  that  of  the  romantic  knight  who  had  wooed 

351 


J  ^  »; 


^ 


^  tl 


>  I 


^1 


!  I 


r//^  STREET    CALLED    STRAIGH 

a  gracious  lady  in  the  little  house  at  Southsea.  Th. 
tapestry-tale  had  ended  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  i 
Tory  Hill.  In  its  place  there  had  risen  the  teste 
devotion  of  a  man  for  a  woman  in  great  troubh 
compelled  to  deal  with  the  most  sordid  things  i 
life.  He  had  refused  to  be  spared  any  of  the  detail 
she  would  have  saved  him  from  or  to  turn  away  fror 
any  of  the  problems  she  was  obliged  to  face.  Hi 
very  revolt  against  it,  that  repugnance  to  the  neces 
sity  fjr  doing  it  which  he  was  not  at  all  times  abl 
to  conceal,  made  his  self-command  in  bringing  him 
self  to  it  the  more  worthy  of  her  esteem.  He  ha( 
the  defects  of  his  qualities  and  the  prejudices  of  hi 
class  and  profession;  but  over  and  above  these  par 
donable  failings  he  had  the  marks  of  a  hero. 

And  now  there  was  this  thing! 

She  had  descried  it  from  afar.  She  had  had  ^ 
suspicion  of  it  before  Davenant  went  away.  It  had 
not  created  a  fear;  it  was  too  strange  and  improb- 
able for  that;  but  it  had  brought  with  it  a  sense  oi 
wonder.  She  remembered  the  first  time  she  had  ftlt 
It,  this  sense  of  wonder,  this  sense  of  something  en- 
chanted, outside  life  and  the  earth's  atmosphere. 
It  was  at  that  moment  on  the  lawn  when,  after  the 
unsuccessful  meeting  between  Ashley  and  Davenant, 
she  had  turned  with  the  latter  to  go  into  the  house. 
That  there  was  a  protective,  intimate  element  in  Iki 
feeling  she  had  known  on  the  instant;  but  what  she 
hadn't  known  on  the  instant,  but  was  perfecrlv 
aware  of  now,  was  that  her  whole  subconscious  bein^ 
had   been  crying  out  even   then:  "My  own!     Mv 


own 


35' 


i 

1 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

With  the  exaggeration  of  this  thought  she  was  able 
to  get  herself  in  hand.  She  was  able  to  debate  so 
absurd  a  suggestion,  to  argue  it  down,  and  turn  it 
into  ridicule.  But  she  yielded  again  as  the  Voice 
that  talked  with  her  urged  the  plea:  "I  didn't  say 
you  knew  it  consciously.  You  couldn't  cry  'My 
own!  My  own!'  to  a  man  whom  up  to  that  point 
you  had  treated  with  disdain.  But  your  sublimirial 
"being  had  begun  to  know  him,  to  recognize  him 

as —  .     , 

To  elude  this  fancy  she  set  herself  to  recapitulat- 
ing his  weak  points.  She  could  see  why  Ashley 
should  thrust  him  aside  as  being  "not  a  gentleman." 
He  fell  short,  in  two  or  three  points,  of  the  English 
standard.  That  he  had  little  experience  of  life  as 
it  is  lived,  of  its  balance  and  proportion  and  per- 
spective, was  clear  from  the  way  in  which  he  had 
flung  himself  and  his  money  into  the  midst  of  the 
Guion  disasters.  No  man  of  the  world  could  pos- 
sibly have  done  that.  The  very  fact  of  his  doing 
it  made  him  lawfully  a  subject  for  some  of  the 
epithets  Ashley  applied  to  him.  Almost  any  one 
would  apply  them  who  wanted  to  take  him  from  a 
hostile  point  of  view. 

She  forgot  herself  so  far  as  to  smile  faintly.  It  was 
just  the  sort  of  deficiency  which  she  had  it  in  her 
power  to  make  up.  The  reflection  set  her  to  dream- 
ing when  she  wanted  to  be  doing  something  else. 
She  could  have  brought  him  the  dower  of  all  the 
things  he  didn't  know,  while  he  could  give  her.  .  . 
But  she  caught  herself  again. 

"What  kind  of  a  woman  am  Ir" 
■23  353 


'PI 

w*- 1 

If 

Jt  1 


m 


^^ 


\  .  ■ 


4' 


i-, 


:i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGh 

She  began  to  be  afraid.     She  began  to  see  in  h. 

self  the  type  she  most  detested— the  woman  w 

could  dehberately  marry  a  man  and  not  be  loyal 

him.     She  was  on  the  threshold  of  marriage  wi 

Ashley,  and  she  was  thinking  of  the  marvel  of  Ii 

with  some  one  else.     When  one  of  the  inner  Voic 

denied  this  charge,  another  pressed  it  home  by  na 

mg  the  precise  incident  on  which  her  heart  had  btt 

dwelhng.     "You  were  thinking  of  this— of  that-, 

the  time  on  the  stairs  when,  with  his  face  close  i 

yours,  he  asked  you  if  you  loved  the  man  you'd  1 

going  away  with-of  the  evening  at  the  gate  win 

your  hand  was  in  his  and  it  was  so  hard  to  take 

away.     He  has  no  position  to  offer  you.     There 

nothing  remarkable  about  him  beyond  a  capaeit 

for  making  money.     He's  beneath  you  from  ever 

point  of  view  except  that  of  his  mere  manhood,  :m 

yet  you  feel  that  you  could  let  yourself  slip  into  rha 

— into  the  strength  and  peace  of  it — " 

She  caught  herself  again— impatiently.  It  wa 
no  use!  There  was  something  wilful  within  her 
something  that  could  be  called  by  even  a  stron^ei 
name,  that  worked  back  to  the  point  from  which  slu 
tried  to  flee,  whatever  means  she  took  to  get  awn 
from  it. 

She  returned  to  her  work,  persuading  Cousin 
Cherry  to  go  home  to  tea  and  leave  her  toHnish  the 
task  alone.  Even  while  she  did  so  one  of  the  inner 
\  oices  taunted  her  by  saying:  "That  'II  leave  vou 
all  the  more  tree  to  dream  of— /urn." 

Some  days  passed  before  she  felt  equal  to  talking 

354 


** 


^ 


THE_STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

about  Davenaiit  again.  This  time  it  was  to  the 
tinkling  silvi  r,  as  she  and  Drusilla  Fane  sorted  spoons 
and  forks  at  the  sideboard  in  the  dismantled  dining- 
room.  Olivia  was  moved  to  speak  in  the  desperate 
hope  that  one  stab  from  Drusilla— who  might  be 
in  a  position  to  deliver  it — would  free  her  from  the 
obsession  haunting  her. 

There  had  been  a  long  silence,  sufficiently  occupied, 
it  sctmed,  in  laying  out  the  different  sorts  and  sizes 
of  spoons  in  rows  of  a  dozen,  while  Mrs.  Fane  did  the 
same  with  the  forks. 

"Drusilla,  did  Mr.  Davenant  ever  say  anything 
to  you  about  me?" 

She  was  vexed  with  herself  for  the  form  of  her 
question.  It  was  not  Davenant's  feeling  toward 
her,  but  toward  Drusilla,  that  she  wanted  to  know. 
She  was  drawing  the  fire  in  the  wrong  place.  Mrs. 
Fane   counted   her   dozen   forks   to   the  end  before 

saying: 

"Why,  yes.     We've  spoken  of  you." 

Having  begun  with  a  mistake,  Olivia  went  on  with 
it.     "Did  he  say— anything  in  particular r"^^ 

"He  said  a  good  many  things,  on  and  off." 

"Some  of  which  might  have  been— in  particular?" 

"All  of  them,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

"Why  did  you  never  tell  me?" 

"For  one  reason,  because  you  never  asked  me.|j 

"Have  you  any  idea  why  I'm  asking  you  now?" 

"Not  the  faintest.     I  dare  say  we  sha'n't  see  any- 
thing more  of  him  for  years  to  come." 

"Did  you— did  you— refuse  him?     Did  you  send 
him  away?" 

355 


II 


ll 


•re 


ii 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Well,  that's  on.  thing  I  didn't  have  to  do, 
thank  the  Lord.  There  was  no  necessity.  I  was 
afraid  at  one  time  that  mother  might  make  him 
propose  to  me— she's  terribly  subtle  in  that  way 
though  you  mightn't  think  it— but  she  didn't.' 
No;  if  Peter's  in  love  with  any  one,  it's  not  with  me  " 

Olivia   braced   herself  to  say,   "And   I   hope  it's 
not  with  me." 

Drusilla  went  on  counting. 

"Did  he  ever  say  anything  about  that?"  Olivia 
persisted. 

Drusilla  went  on  counting.  "Eight,  nine,  ten, 
eleven,  twelve.  That's  all  of  that  set.  What  a 
lot  ot  silver  you've  got!  And  some  of  it  must  have 
been  in  the  family  for  thousands  of  years.  Yes," 
she  added,  in  another  tone,  "yes,  he  did.  He  said 
he  wasn't." 

Olivia  laid  down  the  ladle  she  was  holding  with 
infinite  precaution.  She  had  got  the  stab  she  was 
looking  for.  It  seemed  for  a  minute  as  W  she  was 
free— gloatingly  free.  He  hadn't  cared  anything; 
about  her  after  all,  and  had  said  so!  She  steadied 
herself  by  holding  to  the  edge  of  the  sideboard. 

Drusilla  stooped  to  the  basket  of  silver  standing; 
on  the  floor,  in  a  seemingly  passionate  desire  fov 
more  forks.  By  the  time  she  had  straightened  her- 
self again,  Olivia  was  able  to  say:  "I'm  so  glad  of 
that.  You  know  what  his  kindness  in  helping  papa 
has  made  people  think,  don't  you.'" 

But  Mrs.  Fane  astonished  her  by  throwing  down 
her  handful  of  silver  with  unnecessarv  violence  of 
clang  and  saying:  "Look  here,  Olivia,  I'd  rather  not 

356 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


V 


I 


talk  about  it  any  more,     i  ve  reasons 
a  hand  in  your  affairs  without  being  afraid  that  per- 
haps— perhaps — I — I — sha'n't  play  the  game." 

OHvia  was  silent,  but  she  had  much  to  think  of. 

It  was  a  few  days  later  still  that  she  found  herself 
in  Rodney  Temple's  little  office  in  the  Gallery  of 
Fine  Arts.  She  had  come  ostensibly  to  tell  him 
that  everythng  had  been  arranged  for  the  sale. 

"Lemon  and  Company  think  that  earl>'  in  Decem- 
ber would  be  the  best  time,  as  people  are  beginning 
then  to  spend  money  for  Christmas.  Mr.  Lemon 
seems  to  think  we've  got  a  good  many  things  the 
smaller  connoisseurs  will  want.  The  servants  are 
to  go  next  Tuesday,  so  that  if  you  and  Cousin 
Cherry  could  take  papa  then— I'm  to  stay  with  Lulu 
Sentner;  and  I  shall  go  from  her  house  to  be  married 
— some  day,  when  everything  else  is  settled.  Did 
you  know  that  before  Mr.  Davenant  went  away  he 
left  a  small  bank  account  for  papa.-* — two  or  three 
thousand  dollars — so  that  we  have  money  to  go  on 
with.  Rupert  wants  to  spend  a  week  or  two  in 
New  York  and  Washington,  after  which  we  shall 
come  back  here  and  pick  up  papa.  He's  not  very 
keen  on  coming  with  us,  but  I  simply  couldn't — " 

He  nodded  at  the  various  points  in  her  recital, 
blinking  at  her  searchingly  out  of  his  kind  old  eyes. 

"You  look  pale,"  he  said,  "and  old.  You  look 
forty." 

She  surprised  him  by  saying,  with  a  sudden  out- 
burst: "Cousin  Rodney,  do  you  think  it's  any  harm 
for  a  woman  to  marry  one  man  when  she's  in  love 
with  another?"     Before  he  had  time  to  recover  him- 

357 


m 


rrr- ifMiJiMi 


.  ^*# 


'Y**,' 


MICROCOPY    RESOIUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


I 


1^ 

|40 


1:25  Hill  1.4 


^'  ««2.8       IIIIIZ5 
2.2 


11.8 

1.6 


^    APPLIED  IIVMGE 


!653  East   Main  street 

Rochester,   Ne«  Vork        14609       U'^ 

(716)    482  -0300 -Phone 

(716)    288-  5989  -  Fa« 


r/r£    STREET    CALLED    STRJIGH 

self,  she  followed  this  question  with  a  second.  "E 
you  think  it's  possible  for  a  person  to  be  in  love  wii 
two  people  at  the  same  time?" 
He  understood  now  the  real  motive  of  her  visit 
"I'm  not  a  very  good  judge  of  love  affairs,"  1 
said,  after  a  minute's  reflection.  "But  one  thir 
I  know,  and  it's  this— that  when  we  do  our  duty  v 
don't  have  to  bother  with  the  question  as  to  vhethi 
It's  any  harm  or  not." 

"We  may  do  our  duty,  and  still  make  people  ui 
happy." 

*'No;  not  unless  we  do  it  in  the  wrong  way." 
"So  that  if  I  feel  that  to  go  on  and  keep  my  wot 

IS  the  right  thing— or  rather  the  only  thing—.?" 
"That  settles  it,  dearie.     The  right  thing  is  th 

only    thing  — and   it   makes   for   everybody's    hai 

piness." 

^  Even  if  it  seems  that  it— it  couldn't?" 

"I'm  only  uttering  platitudes,  dearie,  when  I  sa 
that  happiness  is  the  flower  of  right.  No  othe 
plant  can  grow  it;  and  that  plant  can't  grow  any  oth 
flower.  When  you've  done  the  thing  you  fet 
you  re  called  to  do— the  thing  you  coul'' I't  refus 
while  still  keeping  your  self-respect— well,  then 
you  needn't  be  afraid  that  any  one  will  sufl^er  in  th 
long  run— and  yourself  least  of  all." 

*'In  the  long  run!     That  means—" 

"Oh,  there  may  be  a  short  run.     I'm  not  denying 

that.     But  no  one  worth  his  salt  would  be  afraic 

of  It.     And  that,  dearie,"   he  added,  blinking,  "i' 

all  I  know  about  love  affairs." 

There  being  no  one  in  the  gallery  on  which  the 

358 


-w-^-^^^mmm 


lirs,"  he 


ng,  "is 


"  VOLR  OLD  AUNTIE  HAS  COME  TO  TAKE  ALL  YOUR  TROUBLES  AWAY  ' 


It      ' 


?i    - 


hi 


>  i\ 


^'^ 


riy£    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

office  opened,  she  kissed  him  as  she  thanked  him  and 
went  away.  She  walked  homeward,  taking  the 
more  retired  streets  through  Cambridge  and  into 
Waverton,  so  as  to  be  the  more  free  for  thinking. 
It  was  a  reUef  to  her  to  have  spoken  out.  Oddly- 
enough,  she  felt  her  heart  lighter  toward  Davenant 
from  the  mere  fact  of  having  told  some  one,  or  having 
partially  told  some  one,  that  she  loved  him. 

When,  on  turning  in  at  the  gate  of  Tory  Hill,  she 
saw  a  taxicab  standing  below  the  steps  of  the  main 
entrance,  she  was  not  surprised,  since  Ashley  oc- 
casionally took  one  to  run  out  from  town.  But 
when  a  little  lady  in  furs  and  an  extravagant  hat 
stepped  out  to  pay  the  chauffeur  Olivia  stopped  to 
get  her  breath.  If  it  hadn't  been  impossible  she 
would  have  said — 

But  the  taxicab  whizzed  away,  and  the  little 
lady  tripped  up  the  steps. 

Olivia  felt  herself  unable  to  move.  The  motor 
throbbed  past  her,  and  out  the  gate,  but  she  still 
stood  incapable  of  going  farther.  It  seemed  long 
before  the  pent-up  emotions  of  the  last  month  or 
two,  controlled,  repressed,  unacknowledged,  as  they 
had  been,  found  utterance  in  one  loud  cry:  "Aunt 
Vic!" 

Not  till  that  minute  had  she  guessed  her  need  of  a 
woman,  a  Guion,  one  of  her  very  own,  a  mother,  on 
whot-e  breast  to  lay  her  head  and  weep  her  cares  out. 

The  first  tears  since  the  beginning  of  her  trials 
came  to  Olivia  Guion,  as,  with  arms  clasped  round 
her  aunt  and  forehead   pressed  into  the  little  old 

359 


r 


m*\ 


4  IT-.' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGT 

lady's  [urs  she  sat  beside  her  on  a  packing-case 
the  hall.  She  cried  then  as  she  never  knew  befc 
she  was  capable  of  crying.  She  cried  for  the  jov 
the  present,  for  the  trouble  of  the  past,  and  for  t 
'^  of  chngmg  to  some  one  to  whom  she  had 
right  Madame  de  Melcourt  would  have  cried  wi 
her,  had  it  not  been  for  the  effect  of  tears  on  cc 
metics. 

^^  "There,  there,  my  pet,"  she  murmured,  soothing] 

,^x^''}:T^  ^^^^'^  °'^  ^"ntie  would  come 
you.?  Why  didn't  you  cable.?  Didn't  you  kno 
I  was  right  at  the  end  of  the  wire.  There  now,  c. 
all  you  want  to.  It'  II  do  you  good.  Your  ol 
auntie  has  come  to  take  all  your  troubles  away,  an 
see  you  happily  married  to  your  Englishman.  She 
brought  your  ^oi  in  her  pocket-same  old  dot 
-and  everything.  There  now,  cry.  There's  notli 
mg  hke  it. 


w^':mi^\^':^m^m^ii^um 


XXII 


Ip 


jO  Madame  de  Melcourt  the  chief  novelty 
of  American  life,  for  the  first  few  days 
at  least,  lay  in  the  absence  of  any 
necessity  for  striving.  To  wake  up 
in  the  morning  into  a  society  not  keep- 
ing its  heart  hermetically  shut  against 
her  was  distinctly  a  new  thing.  Not  to  have  to 
plan  or  push  or  struggle,  to  take  snubs  or  repay  them, 
to  wriggle  in  where  she  was  not  wanted,  or  to  keep 
people  out  where  she  had  wriggled  in,  was  really 
amusing.  In  the  wide  friendliness  by  which  she 
found  herself  surrounded  she  had  a  droll  sense  of 
having  reached  some  scholastic  paradise  painted  by 
Puvis  de  Chavannes.  She  was  even  seated  on  a  kind 
of  throne,  like  Justitia  or  Sapientia,  with  all  kinds  of 
flattering,  welcoming  attentions  both  from  old 
friends  who  could  remember  her  when  she  had  lived 
as  a  girl  among  them  and  new  ones  who  were  eager 
to  take  her  into  hospitable  arms.  It  was  decidedly 
funny.  It  was  like  getting  into  a  sphere  where  all 
the  wishes  were  gratified  and  there  were  no  more 
worlds  to  conquer.  It  would  pall  in  the  end;  in  the 
end  she  would  come  to  feel  like  a  gourmet  in  a  heaven 
where  there  is  no  eating,  or  an  Englishman  in  some 
Blessed  Isle  where  there  is  no  sport;  but  for  the  mo- 

361 


*! 


I 


fmi  ^^^:.im^m'-^^}f:^, 


M 


mm 


mm 


•*^-" 

••i^. 


*ffl 


m 


IT- 


IEA__STREETl_CAU.EDS  TRJIGH '. 

ment  it  offered  that  refreshing  change  which  stT^t"h 
ens  the  spint  for  taking  up  the  more  serious  thing 
of  hfe  again      In  any  case,  it  put  her  into  a  good 

"II  est  tres  bien,  ton  Anglais." 

.n?  J'ki  ^l''"«^'^,^g^d  ^his  approval  with  a  smii( 

and  a  blush,  as  she  went  about  the  drawing-rZ 

rying  to  give  ,t  sor^ething  of  its  former  air^  wZ 

le^ZTrh'u  "^  '"'"^^  ''  ^'^  ^^^°-^  necessary 
restore  the  house  to  a  condition  fit  for  occupancy 

maid  and   her  man,   announcing  her  intention   to 

that  of  Napoleon  making  a  temporary  stay  in  some 
German  or  Italian  palace  for  the  purposes  of  nT 
tional  reorganization  and  public  weal.     At  the  pres- 

corn:rTtV'%""  ^"t^°"^^  ^^'^  cushions 'n  a 
corner  of  the  sofa,  watching  Olivia  dispose  of  such 

bnc-a-brac  as  had  notbeen  too  remotely  packed  away 

I  always  say,  '  the  old  lady  declared,  "that  when 

^n   Enghshman  is  chic  he's  very  chic,   and  your 

lovetith  hTm ''"'^•°"-     '  '^"'^  ™^-  ^-'-  - 

wirnt"tl!f?1''''  Marquise  accompanied  her  words 
with  little  jerkings  and  perkings  of  her  fluffv  he-id 
with  wayings  of  the  hands  and'rollings  of  the  eyes 
l\7rt:r'  °'  '''  '^"'"^^  and'dashingsThHe 

whiSeThrr"^  ^°'.^"^''  '°  ^^^P  ^''  ^^^^  turned, 
iTke  him!"    ^"'^       '°  '"^'-  ""'  '"^'"^^  y^^  d°"'^' 

362 


•;  44»yy '-"^v  >*TiV!' >^JmVi 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Madame  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  like  him 
as  well  as  I  could  like  any  Englishman.  He's  very 
smart.  You  can  see  at  a  glance  he's  some  one. 
From  what  I'd  heard  of  him — his  standing  by  you 
and  all  that — I  was  afraid  he  might  be  an  eccentric." 

"Whom  did  you  hear  it  from?" 

"Oh,  I  heard  it.  There's  nothing  wonderful  in 
that.  A  thing  that's  been  the  talk  of  Boston  and 
New  York,  and  telegraphed  to  the  London  papers 
— you  don't  suppose  I  shouldn't  hear  of  it  some  time. 
And  I  came  right  over — ^just  as  soon  as  I  was  con- 
vinced you  needed  me." 

Olivia  looked  round  with  misty  eyes.  "I  shall 
never  forget  it,  Aunt  Vic,  dear — nor  your  kindness  to 
papa.  He  feels  it  more  than  he  can  possibly  ex- 
press to  you  —  your  taking  what  he  did  so  —  so 
gently." 

"Ma  foil  The  Guions  must  have  money.  When 
it  comes  to  spending  they're  not  morally  responsible. 
I'm  the  only  one  among^;  them  who  ever  had  a  busi- 
ness head;  and  even  with  me,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  my 
wonderful  Hamlet  and  Tecla —  But  you  can  see 
what  I  am  at  heart — throwing  two  million  francs 
into  your  lap  as  if  it  were  a  box  of  bonbons." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  you  ought,  you  know." 

"And  what  about  the  Guion  family  honor  and  all 
that?  Who's  to  take  care  of  it  if  I  don't?  The  minute 
I  heard  what  had  happened  I  held  up  my  head  and 
said,  Everything  may  go  so  long  as  the  credit  of  the 
Guion  name  is  saved.  N'est-ce  pas?  We  can't  live 
in  debt  to  the  old  man  who  advanced  your  papa  the 
money." 


il 


^^m^}iiusC 


■'^p^f^^jma^ 


ks. 


quLkl^""''  '"  "'''  """  "  ^"•"  Olivia  explainec 
"Ca  ne  fait  rien.     His  ape  i<!nV  ^K^ 

bX:  aM;"i  '^'  -->-PectU':r^^^^^^ 
back  at  a  handsome  rate  of  interest."  ^ 

i^o,  he  didn't.     That's  iusf  .V      H    i 
-out  of-out  of-"  ^  "^  ^^"^  '^  ^o  "' 

"Yes;  out  of  what.?" 

pure  goodness.     The '^^IT  who"  e,t  t'T ei^h'  "' 
sentimenta  St  or  a  knave      IfuJ  '^^^'  '-" 

he  does  it  for  effect  Tf  he's  a  L.  '  \^^"^'"^^."^-hst, 
roguer,..     There's  ;C/;o,:;ra;\'oTrd '^  ''''' 
Davit" '''°"'  '^^^  ^°  -^^  -  exce'pt^ron  of  Mr. 
"Davenant.?     Is  that  his  name?     Yes    T  K.r 

went  nn    "Ko  k  """F"on.        ^o  you  see,     she 

went  on,      he  has  goodness  in  his  blood      tL    • 

f.m.    Noble"  eobrg^'^  "''  ■""•  *  -<<  ««  "'^  "( 
ne^efpaThi^'off  ■•  °'  •"'"•  ^"^  ^i^'  »>-  we  can 

anLtestrf'fi'Jll^'.Zmit'  f  "^  '""™  '''^  '"^  " 

1  m  wjlhng  to  say  six— per  cent. .?" 

304 


m^  y^i^^^^i^rs!; 


^.-  :^'s:.^W  W-^S 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Olivia  came  forward,  looking  distressed.  "Oh, 
I  hope  you  won't,  dear  Aunt  Vic.  I  mean  about  the 
five  or  six  per  cent.  Give  him  back  his  money  if 
you  will,  only  give  it  back  in  the — in  the  princely 
way  in  which  he  let  us  have  it." 

"Well,  I  call  that  princely — six  per  cent." 

"Oh,  please,  Aunt  Vic!  You'd  ofFend  him. 
You'd  hurt  him.  He's  just  the  sort  of  big,  sensitive 
creature  that's  most  easily  wounded,  and — " 

"Tiens!  You  interest  me.  Stop  fidgeting  round 
the  room  and  come  and  tell  me  about  him.  Sit 
down,"  she  commanded,  pointing  to  the  other  corner 
of  the  sofa.     "There  must  be  a  lot  I  haven't  heard." 

If  Olivia  hesitated,  it  was  chiefly  because  of  her 
own  eagerness  to  talk  of  him,  to  sing  his  praises. 
Since,  however,  she  must  sooner  or  later  learn  to  do 
this  with  self-possession,  she  fortified  herself  to  begin. 
With  occasional  interruptions  from  her  aunt  she 
told  the  tale  as  she  understood  it,  taking  as  point 
of  departure  the  evening  when  Davenant  came  to 
dine  at  Tory  Hill,  on  his  return  from  his  travels 
round  the  world. 

"So  there  was  a  time  when  you  didn't  like  him," 
was  Madame  de  Melcourt's  first  comment. 

"There  was  a  time  when  I  didn't  understand 
him." 

"  But  when  you  did  understand  him  you  changed 
your  mind." 

"I  couldn't  help  it." 

"And  did  you  change  anything  more  than  your — 
mind?" 

There  was  so  much  insinuation  in  the  cracked 

3^5 


t 


I 


Hi 


III 

I  ii 


^. 


voice  that  Olivia  colored,  in  spite  of  the  degree  , 
units      hwa   "'''•  '"""  ^^'"^^   ^^-"^   ^''   - 

tha't^•'HT^'^"'^•,'"''i'^"    '°^"^    him.     Befor 

that  Id  been  hostile  and  insolent,  and  then-an 

hen-I    grew   humble.     Yes,    Au.;t   Vic-humbK 

I  grew  more  than  humble.     I  came  to  feel-weTl 

you  might  feel  ,f  y.  a'd  -  ruck  a  great  S      Bernan 

dog  who  d  been  rescuing  you  in  the  snow      1""" 

something  about  him  that  makes  you  think  of  a  St 

^^.^"^.•.^-so  big  and  true  and  loyal-" 

^^^Did  you  ever  think  he  might  be  in  love  wit^ 

She  wa.  ready  for  this  question,  and  had  mad. 
up  her  mind  to  answer  it  frankly.     "Ye.      I  wa 
afraid  he  was  advancing  the  money  on  that  account 
I  felt  so  right  up  to-to  a  few  days  ago." 
And  what  happened  then?" 
"Drusilla  told  me  he'd  said  he-wasn't." 
Madame  de  Me  court  let  that  nncc      "nj 

wnen  ne  came  that  night  to  dinner?" 

icii  you.^  i  didn  t  answer  him." 
Didn't  answer  him.?" 

of-Zf^'whaTh'."'^  """^^"^  '^''^'  '''^^'  •"  ^he  middle 
T:?.  '^^'f  'l^  was  trying  to  tell  me." 

^^^^  Ii-ens!    And  you  had  to  take  his  money  after 

366 


'^'^^'^T%^:->J^-'^V^^y,' 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

Olivia  bowed  her  head. 

"(^ac'est  trop  fort,"  the  old  lady  went  on.  "You're 
quite  right  then  when  you  say  you'll  never  be  able  to 
pay  him  off,  even  if  you  get  rid  of  him.  But  he's 
paid  you  ofF,  hasn't  he.'  It's  a  more  beautiful 
situation  than  I  fancied.     He  didn't  tell  me  that." 

OHvia  looked  up.     "He  didn't  tell  you.?     Who?" 

"Your  papa,"  the  old  lady  said,  promptly.  "It's 
perfectly  lovely,  isn't  it.''  I  should  think  when  you 
meet  him  you  must  feel  frightfully  ashamed.  Don't 
you : 

"I  should  if  there  wasn  t  something  about  him 
that—" 

"And  you'll  never  get  over  it,"  the  old  lady  went 
on,  pitilessly,  "not  even  after  you've  married  the 
other  man.  The  humiliation  will  haunt  you — 
toujours — toujours!  N'est-ce  pas.''  If  it  were  I, 
I  should  want  to  marry  a  man  I'd  done  a  thing  like 
that  to — ^just  to  carry  it  off.  But  yuu  can't,  can 
you.''  You've  got  to  marry  the  other  man.  Even 
if  you  weren't  so  horribly  in  love  with  him,  you'd 
have  to  marry  him,  when  he's  stood  by  you  like  that. 
I  should  be  ashamed  of  you  if  you  didn't." 

"Of  course,  Aunt  Vic." 

"If  he  were  to  back  out  that  would  be  another 
thing.  But  as  it  is  you've  got  to  swallow  your 
humiliation,  with  regard  to  this  Davenant.  Or, 
rather,  you  can't  swallow  it.  You've  simply  got 
to  live  on  it,  so  to  speak.  You'll  never  be  able  to 
forget  for  an  hour  of  the  day  that  you  treated  a  man 
like  that — and  then  took  his  money,  will  you? 
It  isn't  exactly  hke  striking  a  St.  Bernard  who's 

367 


i 

I 


immi 


i'  ! 


'-. — Ti^tWrrf-'TZTr, 

1   \( 

rescuing  you  in  the  snow.     It's  like  beating  him  fir. 

yn,  la  lal    guelle  drole  de  chose  que  la  vie!    Wei 
|t^^^  a  good  thmg  we  can  return  his  money!  at  th 

diH'nv""'''^  '"  «°J"i  '•'"'"'  '•'="'  <i^ar  Aunt  Vic 
see  my  wfm'j^^^  '"  '"^  ''  -"»  '  -"'""• 

with^"  tT'^  '^"'"'"- .  ■^'^^''^  »"  o™^  ^"d  don. 
ij    '/''^yo"  weren't  made  for  l^fe  in  the  rpn 
world     Anyhow,"   she   added,    talc.ng     "  Wr'uo 

M  V  ,1,  "^  ^"''  "^"^   Pa^^-^d   it  was   pa    ed 

Not  that  your  Jot  will  do  you  much  good     ft  'all 
have  to  go  to  settle  the  claims  of  ,' is  Mr  -     R 
the^way,  where  is  he?     Why  doesn't  he  come  and  bi 

StoughL""'  '"  ''"'"«^"'  "  =>  «"''  P'-e  called 

"Then  send  for  him," 

"I'm  not  sure  we  can  get  him      Con^in   ru 
has  wntten  to  him  three  times  sTnce  he  ^  nt  awaT 
and  he  doesn  t  answer."  cuidwaj, 

"Cousin   Cherry!     What  a   goose!     Who'd    ever 

a"'ru:fno^:;rrtot.t^7:e="-"°'^^^^^^ 

bygones,  and  send  for  your  man.''         "  ''^^""'^  ^^' 

368 


■r^^^^mm^^^zym^msmt^^^M^^. 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


"I'll  ask  Cousin  Cherry  to  write  to  him  again." 

"Stuff,  dear.  That  won't  do  any  good.  Wire 
him  yourself,  and  tell  him  I'm  here." 

"Oh,  but.  Aunt  Vic,  dear." 

With  little  perkings  of  the  head  and  much  rolling 
of  the  eyes  the  Marquise  watched  the  warm  color 
rise  in  Olivia's  cheek  and  surge  slowly  upward  to  the 
temples.  Madame  de  Melcourt  made  signs  of  try- 
ing to  look  anywhere  and  everywhere,  up  to  the  ceil- 
ing and  down  at  the  floor,  rather  than  be  a  witness 
of  so  much  embarrassment.  She  emphasized  her 
discretion,  too,  by  making  a  great  show  of  seeing 
nothing  in  particular,  toying  with  her  rings  and  brace- 
lets till  Olivia  had  sufficiently  recovered  to  be  again 
commanded  to  send  for  Davenant. 

"Tell  him  I'm  here  and  that  I  want  to  have  a  look 
at  him.  Use  my  name  so  that  he'll  see  it's  urgent. 
Then  you  can  sign  the  telegram  with  your  own. 
Cousin  Cherry!    Stuff!" 

Later  that  day  Madame  de  Melcourt  was  making 
a  confession  to  Rodney  Temple. 

"Oui,  mon  bon  Rodney.  It  was  love  at  first  sight. 
The  thing  hadn't  happened  to  me  for  years." 

"Had  it  been  in  the  habit  of  happening?" 

"In  the  habit  of  happening — that's  too  much  to 
say.  I  may  have  had  a  little  toquade  from  time  to 
time — I  don't  say  no — of  an  innocence! — or  nearly 
of  an  innocence! — Mais  que  voulez-vous? — a  woman 
in  my  position! — a  widow  since  I  was  so  high! — 
and  exposed  to  the  most  flattering  attentions.  You 
know   nothing    about   it   over    here.     L'amour  est 

24  369 


i 


\ 


l.t^'.:^::i^^:SiL^^?^^^g^^^^:i^S 


He  leaned  back  in  his  roclcing^hair  with  a  lau 
One  does  the  best  one  can,  Vic      'W,,'ZlviA 
opportunity  as  well  as  enfa^ts  de  Boheme     itv, 
chances  have  been  more  generous.  anTl  prL^u 
come  back  and  taunt  us  " 

.thejdoot  on^   iJ15.^?"^hT-:;i-^^^^^^^^^ 
leiice  of  the  act  by  eesture      "  Ao  .v  •      u  T 

me      There  are  th^re^rhen,  atMel'^o^  tTS^n'' 

what'.:,«Lel".an™niet  a^l^^^  L^'d' 

"rSntr^Jrrthe'cl  ^"'^  """^V"  - 

^hmg  away  JJIh".  itfo  eX-and" wt  "-■ 

to  go  ultimately  to  him-'  ^      ^  "'"="  "  ' 

;;The  young  fellow  youVe  taken  such  a  fancy  t„=" 

370 


^feibk4 


ir"-^'m^^mm?^w^^ 


whatever 
and  Bos- 

I  a  laugh. 

(lildren  of 

If  your 

presume 

f  you  to 

y.  You 
'ecome — 
tying  to 
r  having 

course, 
^ork  and 
?.^  Only 
^'d  slam 
the  vio- 
smother 
-Danois 
Icourt's 

for  me 
ike  rich 
k  upon 
saved .? 
to  me 
I  some- 
len  it's 

:yto.?" 

you'd 

ill  and 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

give  next  to  nothing  in  return.  You'd  be  sm-.tten 
to  the  core  by  a  man  who  asks  nothing  and  offers 
all,  if  he  were  as  ugly  as  a  gargoyle.  But  when  he 
takes  the  form  of  a  blond  Hercules,  with  eyes  blue 
as  the  myosotis,  and  a  mustache — mais  une  mous- 
tache!—  and  with  no  idea  whatever  of  the  big- 
ness of  the  thing  he's  doing!  It  was  the  thun- 
derbolt, Rodney — le  coup  de  foudre  —  and  no 
wonder!" 

"I  hope  you  toU  him  so." 

"I  was  very  stiff  with  him.     I  sent  him  about  his 
business  just  Uke  that."     She  snapped  her  fingers. 
"But  I  only  meant  it  with  reserves.     I  let  him  see 
how  I  had  been  wronged — how  cruelly  Oli\ia  had 
misunderstood  me — but  I  showed  him,  too,  how  I 
could    forgive."     She  tore  at  her  breast  as  though 
to  lay  bare  her  heart.     "Oh,  I  impressed  him— not 
all  at  once  perhaps— but  little  by  little — " 
"As  he  came  to  know  you." 
"I  wouldn't  let  him  go  away.     He  stayed  at  the 
inn  in  the  village  two  weeks  and  more.     It's  an  old 
chef  of  mine  who  keeps  it.     And  I  learned  all  his 
secrets.     He  thought  he  was  throwing  dust  in  my 
eyes,  but  he  didn't  throw  a  grain.     As  if  I  couldn't 
see  who  was  in  love  with  who — after  all  my  expe- 
rience!   Ah,  mon  bon  Rodney,  if  I'd  been  fifty  years 
younger!     And  yet  if  I'd  been  fifty  years  younger,  I 
shouldn't  have  judged  him  at  his  worth.     He's  the 
type  to  which  you  can  do  justice  only  when  you've 
a    standard    of  comparison,   n'est-ce  pas?      It's    in 
putting    him    beside    other    men— the    best— even 
Ashley  over  there — that  you  see  how  big  he  is." 

371 


I- 


WWSI 


^"^T  ..-fyi^^^  ■j^  .* 


She  tossed  her  hand  in  the^lii^i^ri^iJ'^J^^iZr: 

mere,  to  insr  hI;X':„e::  ''"""  '"""^  ""-""^ 

11  est  tres  bien,  cet  Ashlpv  "  <-l,o  a/t 
tinued,  "chic-d.sringuifhedZ;„  torf  liSTl" 

et  n,„n  Orventr    td    e'^^lprd^e^'t-^^^'^ 

JHrdtrxri^r^-""^"^— 

should   thev'-or  the  ■T.'^'J  "  ""^  ^g<=-hov 

alone.  Hehe7r  Pauf  n?  A  "  '  t^'  '«  "^  "™< 
come  with  me  Oh  tL?  "u  """^  ^°"l<'  ha« 
away.     We  took  the  t  ^•'"""''-^[  ■■"''     "^^  ""^  "" 

.wo"e,opi„;  ro:ls-r"th:  £:frjfv"^'  't- 

I.ouu.ana  to  New  Yotk.     Mais   hSasr-"  '""''  ""•■ 

iine  paused  to  laueh  anH  pi-  *-»,«.         '    • 
away  a  tear.     "At  l!;;:"Yo^te "rteTn'" '"'' 
meet  agam-so  he   thinks.     HrCk  taT'T  "J 
.  '.went  straight  to  that  funny  pUce  in  M    t 
jom  his  pal.     He's  th-r.  „„   P'^".'."  Michigan 

that  Olivia  Ls  ma%ied'Ter"S;^:Hrrf  Ts  '"^ 
might  wait  to  hear  that  sentence  of  J^i'  ^■''" 
one  you  were  fond  of  V.T  k  "^^^^^  °"  '°"^^^ 

-onku,quel£aveho,in?ef  r"  :""^'  Ti  ^'' 
the  people  who  produced  kim  T^''^'^.'^  ^''?^^^ 
ever  was  before."  ^°"  ^  ^"°^  that  I 

372 


:^S^^i^i^'M^\ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Oh,  the  world  is  full  of  brave  fellows,  when  the 
moment  comes  to  try  them." 

"Perhaps.  I'm  not  convinced.  What  about 
him?"  She  flicked  her  hand  again  toward  Ashley. 
"Would  he  stand  a  big  test?" 

"  He's  stood  a  good  many  of  them,  I  understand. 
He's  certainly  been  equal  to  his  duty  here." 

"He's  done  what  a  gentleman  couldn't  help  doing. 
That's  something,  but  it's  possible  to  ask  more." 

"I  hope  you're  not  going  to  ask  it,"  he  began,  in 
some  anxiety. 

"He  strikes  me  as  a  man  who  would  grant  what 
was  wrung  from  him,  while  the  other — my  blond 
Hercules — gives  royally,  like  a  king." 

"There's  a  soul  that  climbs  as  by  a  ladder,  and 
there's   a   soul   that   soars   naturally   as   a   lark.     I 
don't  know  that  it  matters  which  they  do,  so  long 
as  they  both  mount  upward." 
.     "We  shall  see." 

"What 'shall  we  see?  1  hope  you're  not  up  to 
anything,  Vic?" 

With  another  jerk  of  her  hand  in  the  direction  of 
Ashley  and  Drusilla,  she  said,  "That's  the  match 
that  should  have — " 

But  the  old  man  was  out  of  his  seat.  "You  must 
excuse  me  now,  Vic.     I've  some  work  to  do." 

"Yes,  be  off.    Only—" 

She  put  her  forefinger  on  her  lips,  rolling  her  eyes 
under  the  brim  of  her  extravagant  hat  with  an  ex- 
pression intended  to  exclude  from  their  pact  of  con- 
fidence not  only  the  other  two  occupants  of  the  room, 
but  every  one  else. 

373 


in 
i  ■ 


,  «■  .vmm'  • 


m^,. 


i 


■  : 

■J. 

i 

Bl  [>'..' 

1 

''1 

Ul' 

^n 

) 

,9B' 

^n  1 

< 

Ml  i 

m 

I';-- 

M  iif>' 

■  81 

•  i' 

ffl  lf|i' 

Is 

ii 

i^ 

iff ' 

u\ 

hHr 

^Hifiri^ 

Mm%tf '> 

1  ''If 

W^ 

1      M    1  ;'  (i 

W 

^^B^^ 

\m  X7  ■» 

"**"^ 

Mdcourt  evpWned  to  h        ''''™f '°'''  Madame 

<::  Pdiiing  ot  this  sum  through  Mice  r.  ■ 
hands  was  to  be  no  morp  i-ho„      r         ,  ^"'°' 

Wh  Ch  would   be  r^rr,«J  U      T^^  ^'^^^  ^^  ^"^'"6 

Marquise  onsi^ererthaTlhe'  'm  ^  ^^^^"-^' 
for  which  she  c^ld  t^  tdTpo^Tv'^^l^ 
e^se  concerned  Olivia  and  her  father  and  h'^^'^'" 
Her  own  interest  in  tU^  ,  ^"°  IJavenani 

with  a  gircr;;::rtYr"'  '"^"  ™""  "^  ^"-^^^ 

sued  other  aspects  of  ^h,  k''"  '^^'"°""  P""- 
Ashley  when  th'Tt  repl  ts  "„td"an"'  off  ^'°" 
Demg  served  to  them  in  the  library  C^'  '^'  ^''" 
withdrawn  to  wait  on  her  fa  he^  Ti,i^  j^\",'"*^ 
court  bade  him   hVh,   P,"  '  ™''='ne  de  Mel- 

puffed  daiLit  at  f  i 'rettfV"^  '^  ^"-^  '"''" 
grotesque  in  doing  it  he  h'^'  "  '^'  ™^  ="  ""'<■ 
elderly  Englishrmrn  who  i„Th"  ""'^  "'^".°"' 
was  even  more  so  ^  '^""^  pastime, 

Taking  one  thing  with  another,  he  l.ked  h.s  future 

374 


m^m^!^^m:^4^ 


m:  "Shall 

financial 
adame  du 
the  Mai- 
.  with  the 
3  arrive. 
'  she  had 
trustees. 

Guion's 
the  ques- 
^Vith  the 
ed  upon 
business 
-rn— the 
done  all 
-rj'thing 
venant. 
satisfied 

g  taken 
rt  pur- 
oclonel 
'ee  was 
having 
e  Mel- 
herself 
I  httle 
in  one 
stiine, 


Futu 


re 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

great-aunt  by  marriage.  That  is,  he  liked  a  con- 
nection that  would  bring  him  into  touch  with  such 
things  in  the  world  as  he  held  to  be  important. 
While  he  had  the  scorn  natural  to  the  Englishman  of 
the  Service  class  for  anything  out  of  England  that 
pretended  to  be  an  aristocracy,  he  admitted  that  the 
old  French  royalist  cause  had  claims  to  distinction. 
The  atmosphere  of  it  clinging  to  one  who  was  pre- 
sumably in  the  heart  of  its  counsels  restored  him  to 
that  view  of  his  marriage  as  an  alliance  between  high 
contracting  powers  which  events  in  Boston  had  made 
so  lamentably  untenable.  If  he  was  disconcerted, 
it  was  by  her  odd  way  of  keeping  him  at  arm's-length. 

"She  doesn't  like  me,  what?"  he  had  more  than 
once  said  to  Olivia,  and  with  some  misgiving. 

Olivia  could  only  answer:  "I  think  she  must. 
She's  said  a  good  many  times  that  you  were  chic  and 
distinguished.  That's  a  great  deal  for  any  English- 
man from  her." 

"She  acts  as  if  she  had  something  up  her  sleeve." 

That  had  become  something  like  a  conviction 
with  him;  but  to-day  he  flattered  himself  that  he  had 
made  some  progress  in  her  graces.  His  own  spirits, 
too,  were  so  high  that  he  could  be  affable  to  Guion, 
who  appeared  at  table  for  the  only  time  since  the 
dav  of  their  first  meeting.  Hollow-cheeked,  hollow- 
eyed,  hi 3  figure  shrunken,  and  his  handsome  hand 
grown  so  thin  that  the  ring  kept  slipping  from  his 
finger,  Guion  essayed,  in  view  of  his  powerful  rel- 
ative's vindication— for  so  he  liked  to  think  of  it — 
to  recapture  some  of  his  old  elegance  as  a  host.  To 
this  Ashley  lent  himself  with  entire  good-will,  taking 

375 


n 


•w~Bi.T«?rrrrs 


^smi^mt^^^^i^'m^M'^m^. 


Ill  1 

III  1 

II 

nage,  a  month  of  EnelanH    w^  u       ^^^  °^  ""' 
youth  and  freshness     ^'      ^"^"^  '""'"'•^  ^"  ^^ 

de'^Xuft"^  ?t :::  t' "  '^  ^'^"r'^'^  ^^^- 

for,  the  moment  ofravin/  """T"'  ^'  ^^^  ^-^'f* 
generosity,  f?;  ^  f  HtTelT'^f  f^t"  "  '^' 
vvantmg,  as  he  out  .>  "r^A  •    .      "'^"erto,  m 

fearoftranseressiniri-h«o     *^^^7     ^P^^t  from   th( 
he  would  ha^ve  em-^^^^^^^ 

assumed  a  st^re^a^VaTair'  .-^^  ''  "^^'  '^^ 
inarticulate  phrase  of  whfch  the  Id"'  °"^,/  ^ 
tingu.sh  only  "so  awfulirgood  of  you '^a^'^  '"" 
forget  your  jolly  kindness  "    Th/u  "^'■^'' 

soldier-hke,  and^ridsh  he  wis  hurtTo""'"'"^' 
amused  smile  on  the  Ma  quise^s  ios  H  u  u  '" 
sworn  that  she  felf  tul  i.^       He  could  have 

occasion.     She  wou  d  n    ^P^f\ '"adequate  to  the 

had  it  been  ear^il/'    u^i^  ^"^^  ^'^^^  '^  better 
garnished  with  American  flourishes  or 
376 


m 


■;^:t--'v 


'^y.^i^.-^-:.'  --f  ^- .--'  ■" 

_ ..  _dH^^^^^^^^^^ 

=";'-Vl"i?"v/'"^".= 

-  -j-^'-'^i'^^WS^-^ris^  I 

iri-:^i?r^^^^  ^ 


I  mrj^i\.:m^jmu^imaBii^^^ttr 


af  the  new 
s  of  con- 
'se  Olivia, 
a  dignity, 
earned  of. 
laps,   tile 
!  throu|,r|i 
>  of  mar- 
i  all  her 

Madame 
1  waited 
fe  to  her 
rto,  not 
lirof  its 
ise;  and 

5  better 
n's  fear 
::apable 
)m   the 
»d  form 
v^as,  he 
a  few 
Id   dis- 
'never 
cuhne, 
ice  an 
i  have 
o  the 
better 
les  or 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

French  ornamentation.  "She's  taking  me  for  a 
jolly  ass,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  reddened  hotly. 

In  contrast  to  his  deliberate  insufficiency  the  old 
lady's  thin  voice  was  silvery  and  precise.  Out  of 
some  bit  of  obscure  wilfulness,  roused  by  his  being  an 
Englishman,  she  accentuated  her  Parisian  affecta- 
tions. 

"I'm  very  much  delighted,  Col-on-el,"  she  said, 
giving  the  military  title  its  three  distinct  French 
syllables,  "but  you  must  not  think  me  better  than 
I  am.  I'm  very  fond  of  my  niece — and  of  her 
father.  After  all,  they  stand  nearer  to  me  than 
any  one  else  in  the  world.  They're  all  I've  got  of 
my  very  own.  In  any  case,  they  should  have  had 
the  money  some  day — when  I — that  is,  I'd  made  my 
will,  n'est-ce  pas.^  But  what  matters  a  little  sooner 
or  a  little  later.''  And  I  want  my  niece  to  be  happy. 
I  want  a  great  many  things;  but  when  I've  sifted 
them  all,  I  think  I  want  that  more  than  anything 
else." 

Ashley  bowed.  "We  shall  always  feel  greatly 
indebted — "  he  began,  endeavoring  to  be  more  ele- 
gant than  in  his  words  of  a  few  minutes  earlier. 

"  I  want  her  to  be  happy,  Col-on-el.  She  deserves 
it.  She's  a  noble  creature,  with  a  heart  of  gold  and 
a  spirit  of  iron.     And  she  loves  me,  I  think." 

"I  know  she  does,  by  Jove!" 

"And  I  can't  think  of  any  one  else  who  does  love 
me  for  myself."  She  gave  a  thin,  cackling  laugh. 
"They  love  my  money.  Le  bon  Dieu  has  counted  me 
worthy  of  having  a  good  deal  during  these  later 
years.     And  they're  all  very  fond  of  it.     But  she's 

377 


y 


^X^'^^i^    .^t. 


'T^' 


■I 


I  he  devil  he  did!" 
Ashley  sprang  out  of  his  rhair      Tu  i 

"ught  the  echo  of  his  own  exclLatf™       m"^. 

S;  "Hetw  .te^  whe-tir.  Jh,t 
«^        *V  .     reader  than  ever;  his  eyes  danced 
Va  ne  fait  rien,  Col-on-el      T^'o  "^nceu. 

which  I .,  ,f  often  u  J  h:^,^[;r„.-rKz;; 

rosely  toeell  .e  how  highl^rL     qtX,  ';r; 
likeTh^l""  ""^^  '  ''"<'•     When  one'has  a Ih^kI 
"But  he's  not  my  friend." 

He  .aid  no  orc^uIdTt  :X°"to  mf'"'- 
niece— no  one  conM  ,r.^u  "  "^"""^  to  marry  m\' 
could  give  her  such  ./       ^'' ^  ^appy-ro  one 

worldino  one  ;"  s\o  fine'T.f'^P?^'^"  '"  ^'-' 
son-"  ^"^  ^  ^^"°^  •"  his  own  per- 

He   looked   mystified      "Rni-   u^' 
Michigan—"  ^   ^^  ^   °"f    there   in 

sta>.ed  wrrn.e't^^re.ra.'Mel'^-T^n  ■*"^- 

before  that      T?"        T      T'^  ^"S^>^  ^'^^  my  niece 
betore  that.     It  was  he  who  made  me  see  differently 

3/8  ^ 


t.i  s;t  u  -9 


*■..'■'    V  C"  = 


A^J?^^q^ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 


If  it  were  not  for  him  I  shouldn't  be  here.  He 
traveled  to  France  expressly  to  beg  my  help — how 
shall  I  say?— on  your  behalf  in  simplifying  things 
— so  that  you  and  Olivia  might  be  free  from  your 
sense  of  obligation  to  him — and  might  marry — " 

"  Did  he  say  he  was  in  love  with  her  himself?" 

She  ignored  the  hoarse  suffering  in  his  voice  to 
take  another  puff  or  two  at  her  cigarette.  "Ma 
foi,  Col-on-el,  he  didn't  have  to." 

"Did  he  say — "  He  swallowed  hard,  and  began 
again,  more  hoarsely:  "Did  he  say  she  was — in 
love  with — with  him?" 

There  was  a  hint  of  rebuke  i  '  her  tone.  "He's 
a  very  loyal  gentleman.     He  c        t." 

"Did  he  make  you  think — ?' 

"What  he  made  me  think,  Col-on-el,  is  my  own 
affair." 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  throwing  his  cigar  vio'.ntly 
into  the  fire.  For  a  minute  or  two  he  stood  glaring 
at  the  embers.  When  he  turned  on  her  it  was 
savagely. 

"May  I  ask  your  motive  in  springing  this  on  me, 
Marquise?" 

"Mon  Dieu,  Col-on-el,  I  thought  you'd  like  to 
know  what  a  friend  you  have." 

"Damn  his  friendship.  That's  not  the  reason. 
You've  something  up  your  sleeve." 

She  looked  up  at  him  innocently.  "Have  I? 
Then  I  must  leave  it  to  you  to  tell  me  what  it  is. 
But  when  you  do,"  she  added,  smiling,  "I  hope  you'll 
take  another  tone.  In  France  men  are  gallant  with 
women — " 

379 


1 


■'I 

■.ti 


^s^ 


V^^^^b^ 


'  I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGH 

"And  in  England  women  are  straight  with  mei 
What  they  have  to  say  they  say.  They  don't  la 
snares,  or  lie  in  ambush." 

She  laughed.  "Quant  a  cela,  Col-on-el,  il  y  en 
pour  tous  les  gouts,  meme  en  Angleterre." 

"I'll  bid  you  good-by,  madame." 

He  bowed  stiffly,  and  went  out  into  the  hal 
She  continued  to  smoke  daintily,  pensively,  whil 
she  listened  to  him  noisily  pulling  on  his  overcoa 
and  taking  his  stick  from  the  stand.  As  he  passe 
the  library  door  he  stopped  on  the  threshold. 

"By  Gad,  she's  mine!"  he  said,  fiercely. 

She  got  up  and  went  to  him,  taking  him  by  th 
lapel  of  the  coat.  There  was  something  like  pity  ii 
her  eyes  as  she  said:  "My  poor  fellow,  nobody  ha 
raised  that  question.  Wha  's  more,  nobody  ml 
raise  it— unless  you  do  yourself." 


iJth. 


IfSa  AW-iTTriC:'. 


•a-^k^v. 


'  IT^T'"^  ^  ■ 


XXIII 

ASHLEY'S  craving  was  for  space  and  air. 
He  felt  choked,  strangled.  There  was 
a  high  wind  blowing,  carrying  a  sleety 
rain.  It  was  a  physical  comfort  to 
turn  into  the  teeth  of  it. 

,_ He  took  a  road  straggling  out  of  the 

town  toward  the  remoter  suburbs,  and  so  mto  the 
country.  He  marched  on,  his  eyes  unseeing,  his 
mouth  set  grimly— goaded  by  a  kind  of  frenzy  to  run 
away  from  that  which  he  knew  he  could  not  leave 
behind.  It  was  like  fleeing  from  something  omni- 
present. Though  he  should  turn  his  back  on  it 
never  so  sternly  and  travel  never  so  fast,  it  would 
be  with  him.  It  had  already  entered  into  his  life 
as  a  constituent  element;  he  could  no  more  get  rid 
of  it  than  of  his  breath  or  his  b'.ood. 

And  yet  the  thing  itself  eluded  him.  In  the  very 
attempt  to  apprehend  it  by  sight  or  name,  he  found 
it  mysteriously  beyond  his  grasp.  It  was  like  an 
enemy  in  the  air,  deadly  but  out  of  reach.  It  had 
struck  him,  though  he  could  not  as  yet  tell  v  lere. 
He  could  only  stride  onward  through  the  wmc  and 
rain,  as  a  man  who  has  been  shot  can  ride  on  till 
he  falls. 

So  he  tramped  for  an  hour  or  more,  finding  himself 


w. 


■■v;,::'  '^s^y 


-f^-  ••'t' 


at  last  amid  bleak,  dreary  marshes,  ov^T^^^^idTd^ 
November  twilight  was  coming  down.  He  M 
lonely,  desolate,  far  from  his  famil.ar  things,  far  fron 
home.  His  familiar  things  were  his  ambitions,  a« 
home  was  that  hfe  of  well-ordered  English  dignitr 
m  which  to-morrow  will  bear  som.  relation  to  to-oa 

He  felt  used  up  by  the  succession  of  American 
shocks,  of  American  violences.  They  had  reduced 
him  to  a  condition  of  bewilderment.  For  four  or 
five  weeks  he  had  scarcely  known  from  minute  to 
minuce  where  he  stood.  He  had  maintained  his 
ground  as  best  ne  was  able,  holding  out  for  the  mo- 
ment when  he  could  marry  his  wife  and  go  his  wav 
and  now,  when  ostensibly  the  hour  had  come  in  which 

wort  '''  f'  ^f  only  that  he  might  see  confusion 
worse  confounded. 

He  turned   back  toward   the  town.     He  did  so 
wiLn  a  feeling  of  fuHlity  in  the  act.     Where  should 
he  go.?     What  should  he  do.?     How  was  he  to  deal 
with   this  new    extraordinary  feature  in   the  case' 
It  was  impossible  to  return  to  Tory  Hill   as  if  the 
Marquise  had   told   him  nothing,   and   equal;  it 
possible  to  make  what  she  had  said  a  point  of  I 
parture  for  anything  else.     If  he  made  it  a  point  of 
departure  for  anything  at  all,  it  could  only  be  for  a 
step  which  his  whole  being  rebelled  agains.  taking. 
It  was  a  solution  of  the  instant's  difficulties  to 
void  the  turning  to  Tory  Hill  and  go  on  to  Drusilla 
1  ane  s      In  the  wind  and  rain  and  gathering  d  irk- 
ness  the  thought  of  her  fireside  was'cheer  ng.     She 
would  understand  him   too.     She  had  alwavs'und ';. 
stood  him.    It  was  her  knowledge  of  the  Enghsh  pcint 

382 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

of  view  that  made  her  such  an  efficient  pal.  Du"ng 
all  the  trying  four  or  five  weeks  through  which  he 
had  passed  she  had  been  ab^e  to  give  him  sympa- 
thetic support  just  where  and  when  he  needed  it. 
It  was  something  to  know  she  would  give  it  to  him 

again.  ,    .  t  u 

As  he  told  her  of  Davenant's  journey  to  \  ranee  he 
could  see  her  eyes  grow  bigger  and  blacker  than  ever 
in  the  flickering  firelight.  She  kept  them  on  him  all 
the  while  he  talked.  She  kept  them  on  him  as  from 
time  to  time  she  lifted  her  cup  and  sipped  her  tea.  ^ 

"Then  that's  why  he  didn't  answer  mothers 
letters,"  she  said,  absently,  when  he  had  finishet^. 
"He  wasn't  there."  .     ,    ,     , 

"He  wasn't  there,  by  Jove!  And  don  t  you  see 
what  a  fix  he's  put  me  in?" 

She  replied,  still  absently:  "I'm  not  sure  that  1 

do."  ,p, 

"He's  given  away  the  whole  show  to  me.^^   ine 

question  is  now  whether  I  can  take  it,  what?" 
"He  hasn't  given  away  anything  you  didn  t  have 

before."  .  .       ,         •  i  u 

"He's  given  away  something  he  might  perhaps 

have  had  himself." 

She  drew  back  into  the  shadow  so  that  he  might 
not  see  her  coloring.  She  had  only  voice  enough  to 
say:  "What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Don't  you  think  so?" 

"That's  not  a  fair  question." 

"It's  a  vital  one." 
'To  you — yes.     But — " 

"But  not  to  you.     Oh,  I  understand  that  well 

3S3 


•saiB 


^iji^'^ 


i^m 


■;^i^'''^,.--ytT'^^  .^ 


ffyS^> 


^* 


in 


Mi* 


■III 


i  . 


fT 


enough.     But  you've  been  such  a  good  pal  that 
thought  you  might  help  me  to  see-''        ^         '' 

1  m  afraid  I  can't  help  you  to  see  anvfK" 
If  I  were  .o  try  I  might  mislead  you."         "^'^'"^ 

outyoumust^noa-,  by  love'     Twn  «r««, 
be  such  pals  as  Olivia  and  youl"  '^"''"  """ 

If  I  did  know  I  shouldn't  tell  von      T^'e 
thing  you  should  find  out  for  yoursX'     '"  '  ""^■ 

"T.     '     i!    u'  ^""^^  ^°"'  '^"'^  ^hat  enough?" 
It   would    be   enough   in    EndanH      R  1   l 

where  words  don't  seem^  to  have  fhe  fame  m        ''' 

tTven^d  ^  ^'""P''  ^""^^  ^"^^'•'  ^on^Plicated  n"o- 
tives-and   do  preposterous,   unexpected   things-^"' 

qu.se  to  come  to  the  rescue  was  only  an  attemot  to 

make  things  easier  for  you."  attempt  to 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.     "And  he's  ant  «,«     u 

I  must  either  call  his  blu/orl^  lo'r  ,Tc,pT  1 ': 
beastly  sacrifice."  -"i— or  accept  fiis 

^iU^lr   A         ''"^.^''"g'  horizontal  mustache      Dru- 
silla  tried  to  speak  calmly. 

384 


^^mssam^^i^m^A^^i^s^mjm^j^s^wiimi^s^^ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"He's  not  making  a  sacrifice  if  there  was  nothing 
for  him  to  give  up." 

"That's  what  I  must  find  out." 

She  considered  it  only  loyal  to  say:  "It's  well  to 
remember  that  in  making  the  attempt  you  may  do 
more  harm  than  good.  'Where  the  apple  reddens, 
never  pry,  lest  we  lose  our  Edens'—    You  know  the 

warnin<5." 

"Yes,  I  know.  That's  Browning.  In  other  words, 
it  means,  let  well  enough  alone." 

"Which  isn't  bad  advice,  you  know." 

"Which  isn't  bad  advice— except  in  love.  Love 
won't  put  up  with  reserves.  It  must  have  all— or 
it  will  take  nothing." 

He  dropped  into  a  low  ch  Ir  at  the  corner  of  the 
hearth.  Wielding  the  pokei  in  both  hands,  he 
knocked  sparks  idly  from  a  smoldering  log.  It  was 
some  minutes  before  she  ventured  to  say:  ^ 

"And  suppose  you  discovered  that  you  couldn  t 

get  all?"  ,  , 

"I've  thought  that  out.  I  should  go  home,  and 
ask  to  be  allowed  to  join  the  first  punitive  expedi- 
tion sent  out— one  of  those  jolly  little  parties  from 
which  they  don't  expect  more  tnan  half  the  number 
to  come  back.  There's  one  just  starting  now-against 
the  Carrals— up  on  the  Tibet  frontier.  I  dare  say 
I  could  catch  it." 

Again  some  minutes  went  by  before  she  said: 
"Is  it  as  bad  as  all  that?" 

"It's  as  bad  as  all  that." 

She  got  up  because  siie  could  no  longer  sit  still. 
His  pain  was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear.  At 
25  385 


I  »ii,„4iU!! 


^P 


4-'    ■   *?'^','- 


'.•!■• 


1 

I 


-.1 


'I 


f: 


;!     Chi 

*4  : 


B 


\i 


the  moment  she  would  have  given  hfe  just  to  be 
lowed  to  lay  her  hand  soothingly  on  his  hou 
or  to  stroke  h,s  bowed  head.     As'^it  was    she  c 

toward  T  ^'''f  '^'  P"^''^S^  «f  taking  one 
toward  h,m,  and  even  in  doing  this  she  was  c 

hetef  In  th7  '^'"1  ''"'  ''''  ^^^  ^^^'^  ^e 
nerseit  m  the  approach 

"Couldn't  I—?" 
beJeec^*'  "'  '''"  ^""^  '"  ^^  '<-•  ■■"  "^  tin 

"No,"  he  saui,  briefly.     "No.     No  one  can  " 

hadn't  'Z^T     T'^'"^  ''^''■■"'  '"'™'  because  s 
knock     nart/T      '°  S^/^y.     He  conrinued 
sphere  o^ht      ff™   '''"u  '"S-     ^'Pu'^ed    from   tl 

there,  how  long  he  would  Ti.rndn^  l.t™  Ir"" 
the  dy,ng  fire      It  was  the  most  intolerab  e  minu 
of  her  hfe,  and  yet  he  didn't  know  it.     Just  forZ  i 
s  ant  she  resented  that-that  while  he  cou  Idget  th 
lurever  to  shame  and   silenrp      If  cU  u   i 

thrown  herself  on  her  kteTtside  t  mTnd  flt, 

love  you!     Whoever    doesn't—/  dol— /   dol'   d„ 

T  emln'^t'^'h"'"  '''  ''"'  ^-l^'^  f-'''™- 
s,.|f  def  u  ^"""""^  '"°'^  unendurable.     In  shee, 

ttnng,  to  break  the  tensity  of  the  strain.      One  stcn 
-the  smgle  step  by  which  she  had  dared  to  draw 

386 


'■•^^^K.jiSiiJSisj-^ 


\AIGUr 

t  to  be  a!- 
i  shoulder 
she  could 
;  one  step 
was  com- 
Id  betray 


Its   timid 

without 

can." 
ause  she 
inued  to 
rom  the 
k  on  her 
d  stana 
I  at,  over 

minute 
r  the  in- 

get  the 
demned 
!d  have 
d  flung 
you;  I 
►  !  '  she 
on. 
n  sheer 

some- 
tie  step 
3  draw 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

nearer  him,  sketching  out  yearning  hands  toward 
him-one  step  sufficed  to  take  her  back  to  the  wodd 
of  conventionalities  and  commonplaces,  where  the 
heart's  aching  is  taboo. 

She  must  say  something,  no  matter  what,  and  the 
words  that  came  were:  "Won't  you  have  another 

tear  ,     i  • 

"He    shook   his   head,    still   without   lookmg   up. 

"Thanks;  no."  j    u  ^u 

But  she  was  back  again  on  her  own  ground,  back 
from  the  land  of  enchantment  and  anguish.  It  was 
like  returning  to  an  empty  home  after  .  journey  ot 
poignant  romance.  She  was  mis^ess  of  herself 
again,  mistress  of  her  secret  and  her  loneliness.  She 
could  command  her  voice,  too.  She  could  hear 
herself  saying,  as  if  some  one  else  were  speaking  trom 
the  other  side  of  the  room: 

"It  seems  to  me  you  take  it  too  tragically  to  begin 

with — 

"It  isn't  to  begin  with.  I  saw  there  was  a  screw 
loose  from  the  first.  And  since  then  some  one  has 
told  me  that  she  was-half  in  love  with  him,  by 

Jove!— as  it  was."  , 

She  remained  standing  beside  the  tea-table. 
"That  must  have  been  Cousin  Henry.  Hed  have 
a  motive  in  thinking  so-not  so  much  to  deceive  you 
as  to  deceive  himself.  But  if  it's  any  comfort  to  you 
to  know  it,  I've  talked  to  them  both.  I  suppose  they 
spoke  to  me  confidentially,  and  1  haven  t  felt  justified 
in  betraying  them.     But  rather  than  see  you  sut- 

fer — "  ,      r 

He  put  the  poker  in  its  place  among  the  hre-irons 

387 


1' 


),  '- 


'r*- 


'-fl?"L'  -JlSb!:!'" 


■..'.   ft 


J-,'. 


^-"      9     'If  'K 

p'jn 

IW 

^'s^.^^l     ^11  '^n 

l^i^H 

■H    tt  :^^||| 

11  J 

^^^^F       M  ^^^^^^^^H 

f  I    , 

H  l^fflH 

pi 

I^H  IsH 

'  ^w 

.^^H    Sw  H 

Iw 

V  iff  1 

i  mm 

i  t  ^j 

^^B        'In-  ' 

i\  S| 

-i-i 

^H           H     ' 

!  ) 

^^H               M 

'  f  «  ^ 

IB       B  I 

=    *   -H    ' 

^    V' 

^H    i  A  || 

-    'J    ^S    ' 

ih< 

H  i^tt 

M' 

■  Mi 

llHIi 

f 

THE    STREET    C AJ^rFn_jr^jj^^ 

and  swung  round  in  his  chair  toward  her      'X 
itnW"        ''"''  '"^""'^•^'  >^«"  ^now.     That  ,s, 

She  smiled  feebly.  "Oh,  I  know  what  it  is.  Y, 
don  t  have  to  explain.  But  I'll  tell  you.  I  ask, 
Peter-or  practically  asked  him-some  time  ago 
.f  he  was  m  love  with  her-and  he  said  he  wa  n't 

H.S  face  brightened.     "Did  he,  by  Jove.'" 

;'Yes.?    Yes.?    She  said— .?" 

"She  didn't  put  it  in  so  many  words— but  sh 

stand-that  ,t  was  a  relief  to  her-because.  in  tha 
case,  she  wasn't  obliged  to  have  him  on  h  r  m m 
A  woman  has  those  things  on  her  mmd,  you  kno" 
about  one  man  when  she  loves  another" 

He  jumped  up.     "I  say!    You're  a  good  pal 
shall  never  forget  it."  ^        ^ 

ap^roacT'  S^'^  ^"'  ^"'  '^'  '''^^'^  ^'^^  -'  hi. 
shTdow  "''   "^"'^   ^"^^  °f  ^^^"-If  in   the 

"Oh,  it's  nothing — " 

"You  see,"  he  tried  to  explain,  "it's  this  way  with 

me      I  ve  made  it  a  rule  in  my  life  to  do-wel     . 

itde  more  than  the  right  thing-to  do  thr^th 

thing  If  you  understand-and  that  fellow  has  a  wa  - 

you  know.     I  told  you  so  the  other  day  " 

do  lzz7f:Lr--'"^' """''''"'  «"^'  >-  ■""« 

He  wmced  at  this.     "I  can't  go  on  swallowing  liis 

388 


'ff :S9^^i'Ki'=rT^'' .,/-  -xr^ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

beastly  favors,  don't  you  see?     And  hang  it  all!  if 
he  is— if  he  i.  my— my  rival— he  must  liave  a  show. 
"And  how  are  you  going  to  give  him  a  show  if  he 

won't  take  it?" 

He  started  to  pace  up  -nd  down  the  room. 
"That's  your  beastly  America,  where  every thmg 
goes  by  freaks— where  everything  is  queer  and  m- 
consequent  and  tortuous,  and  you  can't  pm  any  one 

down."  ,  , 

"It  seems  to  me,  on  the  contrary,  that  you  have 
every  one  pinned  down.  You've  got  everythmg  your 
own  way,  and  yet  you  aren't  satisfied.  Peter  has 
taken  himself  off;  old  Cousin  Vic  has  paid  the  debts; 
and  Olivia  is  ready  to  go  to  church  and  marry  you 
on  the  first  convenient  day.     What  more  can  you 

"That's  what  she  said,  by  Jove!— the  old  Mar- 
quise. She  said  the  question  would  never  be  raised 
unless  I   raised  it." 

Drusilla  tried  to  laugh.     "Eh,  bien?  as  she  d  say 

herself."  ^.     ,  .  i 

He  paused  in  front  ot  her.  "Eh,  bien,  there  ts 
something  else;  and,"  he  added,  tapping  his  fore- 
head sharply,  "I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know  what  it  is 

She  was  about  to  sav  something  more  when  the 
sound  of  the  shutting  of  tne  street  door  stopped  her. 
There  was  much  puffing  and  stamping,  with  shouts 
for  Jane  to  come  and  take  an  um'^iella. 

"I  say,  that's  your   governor.     I'll   go  and    talk 

to  him." 

He    went    without    another    look    at    her.     bhe 
steadied  herself  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  on  the 


I 


t 

11    ■ 

■l' 

i    . 


n 

II 


II 


mj^^^M^^a  w^*^;  -^ 


tea-table,  in  order   not   to  swoon.     She  knew 
wouldn't  swoon;  she  only  felt  l,ke  it,  or  like  dvi 
But  all  she  could  do  was  limply  to  pou    herself 
an  extra  cup  of  tea  and  drink  it. 

In  the  library  Ashley  was  taking  heart  of  en 
He  had  come  to  ask  advice,  but  he  was  realt  no 
.ng  out  the  th.ngs  that  were  in  his  favor      He 

FoTwo,d°"^'"="  '""""'"^-"O  of  'h™  ^-l-o"  wc 
"You  see,  as  far  as  that  goes,  I've  evervthmr,  r 
own  wa,.  No  question  w.l!  be' rais:d7Je  T'ra 
|t.  The  fellow  has  t?ken  himself  off;  the  Marau 
uas  most  generally  assumed   the  family  Sd 

be  m^arrTeVL'Jh^  ^  '°"^  ^°  ^""^^'^  ^^^^  -  ^  - 
oe  married  on  the  first  convenient  day.     I  shou 

be  satisfied  with  that,  now  shouldn't  P" 

to  have  h  ""'"  "°^u'^-     "^^"^  difficulties  do  see, 
to  have  been  smoothed  out." 

He  sat   fitting  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together  nn 
swinging  his  leg,  in  his  desk-chair.     The Tht  of  rJ 

in    tne    semi  -  obscurity    porcelains    and    notterle 
gleamed  like  crystals  in  a  cave.     Asnley  paced 
floor,  emerging  from  minute  to  minute  out  of  th 
gloom  into  the  radiance  of  the  lamp.  ^  '^ 

see^h^at'^^h^etno^am?:.?^''"^  '^'^^'  ^'^^^  ^^ 
I  Not  in  the  least." 

do"^  But'^lt?  '"^  ^^"^'^^'- every  one,  and  I  think  J 

do      «ut  there  are  limits,  by  Jove!     Now,  really?' 

The  minute  we  recognize  limits  it's  our  duty  not 

390 


^^Tii^-f^r^f^ 


MGJ/T 

knew  she 
ke  dyinp;. 
erself  out 


of  grace, 
lly  point- 
He  re- 
OS  t  word 

thing  my 
5S  I  raise 
Marquise 
abilities; 
me  and 
f  should 


do 


seem 


her  and 
It  of  the 
i  room, 
•otteries 
ced  the 
of  the 

lings  to 

think  I 
eally.^" 
ity  not 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

to  go  beyond  them.  It's  thus  far  and  no  farther— 
for  the  man  who  knows  the  stretch  of  his  tether,  at 
any  rate.  The  trouble  with  Peter  is  that  his  tether 
is  elastic.  It  'II  spin  out  as  far  as  he  sees  the  need  to 
go.  For  the  rest  of  us  there  are  limits,  as  you  say; 
but  about  him  there's  something— something  you 
might  call  limitless." 

Ashley  rounded  sharply.  "You  mean  he's  so 
big  that  no  one  can  be  bigger." 

"Not  exactly.  I  mean  that  very  few  of  us  need 
to  be  as  big  as  that.  It's  all  very  well  for  him;  but 
most  of  us  have  to  keep  within  the  measure  of  our 
own  capacity." 

"And  sit  down  under  him,  while  he  looms  up  mto 
God  knows  where?" 

"Well,  wouldn't  that  be  your  idea?" 

"Can't  say  that  it  is.  My  idea  is  that  when  I 
take  my  rights  and  keep  them,  I'm  as  big  as  any 

one.  . 

"Quite  so;  as  big  as  any  one — who  takes  his  rights 
and  keeps  them.     That's  very  true." 

Ashley  stopped,  one  hand  behind  him,  the  other 
supporting  him  as  he  leaned  on  the  desk.  "And 
that's  vvhat  I  propose  to  do,"  he  said,  aggressively. 

"It's  a  very  high  -deal." 

"I  propose  to  accept  the  status  quo  without  ask- 
ing any  mere  questions." 

"I  should  think  that  would  be  a  very  good  plan. 
A  wise  man — one  of  the  wisest — wrote,  apropos  of 
well-disposed  people  who  were  seeking  a  standard  of 
conduct:  'Happy  is  he  that  condemneth  not  himself 
in  that  thing  which  he  alloweth.'     I  should  think 

391 


~S-»sfi5t2 


nm^y'^'^i 


proval.''"  """''  ''"•'""  ^"^  ^'^--^^  ''•"^  "^  -'f- 
^^-Do  yoa  mean  that,  sir?  or  are  you-trying 

"I'm  certainly  not  trying  it  on.     The  man  u 
akes  h.s  nghts  and  keeps  them  can  be  amplyTusrifi 
If  there  s  a  counsel  of  perfection  that  goes  be, 
that  standard-well,  it  isn't  given   to  nil   m 
receive  it."  ^  ^''   "^^" 

"Then  you   think  it  isn't  given   to  mo      V 

^;mat  makes  you  think  I  should  do  that?" 
Beca.:se-because-hang    it    all!      If  I    let   .U 
fellow  keep  ahead  of  me— wh,^    T     /      ;/ 
second  best."  ^'  ^  ^^'°"^^  ^^'"^  ' 

nK"^°V^'''  ^'"^  ^'^"^'^  '^^  '^c-     Do  you  th     k  he 
ahead  of  you  now.?"  y"u  rn     iv  ne 

forttle*'  ^'.'Af''"''^  l";"l»'f-     He  looked  uncom 
rortaDle.       He  s  got  a  pu  ,  by  love  I    He  m-,,1.  .k 
journey  to  France-and  cracked  me  up  to™f\h 

him  and  we'd  had  a  row  "  ''  '"'"''" 

soJI'^f'tCcort^...^"  '  ^'"-  '-^^  ^™  'h- 
It  wouldn't  come  easy  to  me,  by  Tove»" 
Then  ,t  would  be  all  the  more  to  your  credit 

If  you  ever  did  anything  of  the  kind."  ' 

began   to"n?      I"    «'""^'^^  ^^^^-^-     0"^^  more  he 
began   to  pace  the  floor   restlessly.     The  old  man 

J  7- 


mM^^j^ 


ims!mrj!:^:wi 


'^  self-ap- 

-trying  it 

tnan  wlio 

justified. 

s  bej-oiid 

men  to 

You'd 
:omcs  in 

?" 

let   this 

come  in 

k  he's 

uncom- 
de  that 
e  IVIar- 
vhile  he 
ils  into 
nsulted 

n  that 


credit, 

are  he 
I  man 


t 


took  his  pipe  from  a  tray,  and  his  tobacco-pouch 
from  a  drawer.  Having  filled  the  bowl,  with  medita- 
tive leisure  he  looked  round  for  a  match.     "Got  a 

light?" 

Ashley  struck  a  vesta  on  the  edge  of  his  match- 
box and  applied  it  to  the  old  man's  pipe. 

"Should  you  say,"  he  asked,  while  doing  it,  "that 
I  ought  to  attempt  anything  in  that  line?" 

"Certainly    not— unless    you    want    to— to    get 

ahead." 

"I  don't  want  to  stay  behind." 

"Then,  it's  for  you  to  judge,  my  son." 

There  was  something  like  an  affectionate  stress  on 
the  two  concluding  monosyllables.  Ashley  backed 
off,  out  of  the  lamplight. 

"It's  this  way,"  he  explained,  stammermgly; 
"I'm  a  British  officer  and  gentleman.  I'm  a  httle 
more  than  that— since  I'm  a  V.  C.  man— and  a  fel- 
low—dash it  all,  I  might  as  well  say  it!— I'm  a  fellow 
they've  goc  their  eye  on— in  the  line  of  high  office, 
don't  you  know?  And  I  can't— I  simply  can'/— 
let  a  chap  like  that  make  me  a  present  of  all  his 
chances — " 

"Did  he  have  any?" 

Ashley  hesitated.  "Before  God,  sir,  I  don  t 
know— but  I'm  incUned  to  think— he  had.  If  so, 
I  suppose  they're  of  as  much  value  to  him  as  mine 


to  me 


But  not  of  any  more." 
He  hesitated  again.     "I  don't  know  about  that. 
Perhaps  they  are.     The  Lord  knows  I  don't  say  that 
lightly,  for  mine  are—     Well,  we  needn't  go  into 

393 


s^y.* 


Ashley   answered    restively.      "J    see     ..r 
sympath.es  are  all  on  his  side."  '    '"'    ^'" 

Not  at  all.     Quite  the  contrary.     My  certainrl 
3re  on  his  siH^      \/f.r  i  •  •'^  »-errainti 

'^n"     side.     My  sympathies  are  on  vours  " 
Because  you  think  I  need  them."      ^ 
Because  I  think  you  may." 
In  case  I — " 

"In   case  you  should   condemn   yourself  m   .i 
thing  you're  going  to  allow."  ^        ''^  '"   '^' 

iiut  what's  ir  to  be.?" 
"That's  for  you  to  settle  with  yourself  " 

right  eh,„g,  by  j;;e?!:,he    t  ath't  tlift  '^' 
knew  what  it  was  "  tning— it  i  onl} 

S.rl«  clTst rlhT  r"'  ''r  "•"•    I"  "- 
show  the  way"     ^    '  ^  '""'  '*'"'  "<=  «Shts  tc, 

^eif'fx  "w'irbTcI  t7Bot^^..rr"' '° "™- 

everything."  "oston.        Got  an  answer  to 

From  the  hotel  he  telephoned  an  excuse  to  Oliv- 

veyed  his  apoTogieT    e  V  nf  •>  ?    l^  "'"'^'^  '"  ^"'^- 

natureofhismisfha^ce      A?  U     .  ^''/^  «"^^^  '^'' 
miscnance.     As  she  showed  no  curiosirr 

394  ^ 


^|j^:3^.C-.,  '^:n^r;^^^ 


4 


ASHLEY    GOT    THE    IMPRESSION    Til  AT    THEIR    COWI'RSATMN    WAS 
EARNEST,   CONl  IDEN  I  .AL 


rTJF_RTREET    CALLED    STRJIGHT  ' 

on  the  p  -.1"*-=  he  merely  promised  to  come  to  luncheon 

(),iring  his  uin.ier  he  set  himself  to  think,  though, 
amid     trie    kaleidoscopic   movement   of    the    hotel 
dining-room,    he    got    little    beyond    the    stage    ot 
"muUing."     Such  symptoms  of  decision  as  showed 
themselves  through  the  evening  lay     i  his  looking 
up  the  dates  of  sailing  of  the  more  j-^portant  Imers, 
and  the  situation  of  the  Carral  counu/  on  the  map. 
He  missed,  however,  the  support  of  his  principle  to 
be  Rupert  Ashley  at  his  best.     That  guiding  motto 
seemed  to  have  lost  its  torce  owing  to  the  eccentnci- 
nes  of  American  methods  of  procedure      If  he  was 
still  Rupert  Ashley,  he  was   Rupert  Ashley  sadly 
knocked  about,  buffeted,  puzzled,  grown  incapable 
of  the  swift  judgment  and  prompt  action  which  had 
hitherto  been  his  leading  characteristics 

He  was  still  beset  by  uncertainties  when  he  went 
cut  to  Waverton  next  morning.  Impatient  for  some 
form  of  action,  he  made  an  early  start  On  the  way 
he  considered  Rodney  Temple's  words  of  the  pre- 
vious afternoon,  saying  to  himself:  '  In  the  Street 
called  Straight  there  are  lights  to  show  the  way,  by 
Jove!    Gad!  I   should    Hke    to    know   where   they 

^^Nevertheless,  it  had  a  clarifying  effect  on  his  vision 
to  find,  on  walking  into  the  drawing-room  at  lory 
Hill,  Miss  Guion  seated  in  conversation  with  feter 
Davenant.  As  he  had  the  advantage  of  seeing  them 
a  second  before  they  noticed  mm,  he  got  the  impres- 
sion that  their  conversation  was  earnest,  confidential. 
Olivia  was  seated  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  Davenant 

395 


i  f 

I    I 


wfl 

j  p-H 

t  ■  wl 

1||| 

«li  ■i'l"! 

Wi  *» 

'  ■  ^ 

y  W 

^lli 

mm. 

,    i  ■■  i:^ 

Tt  herT«e""'"  ^^™  •""■  "^-PP— e  of  be. 

sion  of  all  his  powers      TlC  fZl        •  "1  P"''' 

con,plicated  to  be  called  talousvrb  '  1'       f  " 
might  have  been  in  it  as  an     gSent  p"f„V"  ?"' 

hesitation.     Neither  diT  he  need  To  f""^'""!'  " 
ever  rapidiv   his  nl»n  Vf  l  forecast,  ho« 

knew  ,f,t  in  urgent  casesTl  "%  ""'""'■  ^'"«  1^ 
restored  to    fe  ao-ain    K,.^  "^^  ''^'ef 

Xn:d^d:;^t^F°"''^~'o^^ 

Uavenant  got  up  from  his  low  chair  v„,VI, 
barrassment.     Ashley  bowed  ZroSh'T  'T 
unusua  courtlinp^      U^         "vcr  v^nvia  s  hand  with 

corner  of  the  sofa    a.  on       '.''  ''u'T'^ '"  '^^  °'^'"- 
place.  '  ''  °"'  "'«'  ''^d  ="  right  to  the 

plained:'at"onr'  ^"^  ""  ''"'■""^'"  ^avenant  ex- 

"A^'^Vicwa'n^elMr  D™'""''   "■'^   ^"'™-'- 
up  all  the  tWngs-'^'"  '^"'="^"' '"  ^''">-=-to  settle 

396 


k! 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"And  I  had  another  reason,"  Davenant  inter- 
rupted, nervously.  "I  was  just  beginning  to  tell 
Miss  Guion  about  it  when  you  came  in.  I've  a  job 
out  there— in  my  work— that  would  suit  Mr.  Guion. 
It  would  be  quite  in  his  line— legal  adviser  to  a  com- 
pany—and would  give  him  occupation.  He'd  be 
earning  money,  and  wouldn't  feel  laid  aside;  and 
if  he  was  ill  I  could  look  af^er  him  as  well  as  any  one. 

I-I'd  like  it." 
Olivia  looked  inquiringly  at  Ashley.      Her  eyes 

were  misty  •  v  a  ui 

"Hadn't  you  better  talk  to  him  about  it?    Ashley 

said-  .  J    A/r- 

"I   thought   I'd  better  speak  to  you  and   Miss 

Guion    first.     I    understand   you've   offered    to— to 

take  him — " 

"I  shouldn't  interfere  with  what  suited  him  better, 
in  any  case.     By  the  way,  how  did  you  like  the 

Louisiana?^' 

Davenant's  jaw  dropped.  His  blue  eyes  were 
wide  with  amazement.  It  was  Olivia  who  under- 
took to  speak,  with  a  little  air  of  surprise  that  Ashley 
should  make  such  an  odd  mistake. 

"Mr.  Davenant  wasn't  on  the  Louisiana.  It  was 
Aunt  Vic.  Mr.  Davenant  has  just  come  from  the 
West.     You  do  that  by  train." 

"Of  course  he  was  on  the  Louisiana.  Landed  on 
the— let  me  see!— she  sailed jigain  yesterday!— 
landed  on  the  20th,  didn'^  you?"  ^ 

"  No,  no,"  Olivia  correct?  d  again,  smihng.  1  hat 
was  the  day  Aunt  Vic  landed.     You're  getting  every 

one  mixed." 

397 


i 


m 


THE    STREET    CALLED_^TV^^r^ 

"hA"'    ^^:^>^^^^'"e    together,"    Ashley    persist 
He  brought  her.     Didn't  you?" 
The  look  on  Ohvia's  face  frightened  Davena 
He  got  up  and  stood  apologetically  behind  his  ch: 
You  II  have  to  forgive  me,  Miss  Guion,"  he  sta 
mered.        1—1   deceived  you.     I  couldn't  think 
anything  else  to  do." 

She  leaned  forward,  looking  up  at  him.  "But 
don  t  know  what  you  did,  as  it  is.  I  can't  und, 
stand—what— what  any  one  is  saying." 

Ihen  I  11  tell  you,  by  Jove!     All  the  time  v 
thought  he  was  out  there  at  Michigan  he  was  over 

1;^""  M  ^^'r'"f  "?  '^"^  Marquise.  Tracked  h 
hke  a  bloodhound,  what.?     Told  her  the  whole  sto 

iulTh"^  K-^f  u°  '  deadlock-and  everythin 
Made  her  thmk  that  unless  she  came  and  bpi|. 
us  out  we  d  be  caught  there  for  the  rest  of  our  lives 

Ohvias    eyes    were    still    lifted    to    Davenant' 

Is  that  true.'^ 

"It's  true,  by  Jove!— true  as  you  live.  What 
more,  he  cracked  me  up  as  though  I  was  the  onl 
man  ahve-said  that  when  it  came  to  a  questio 
o  who  was  worthy-worthy  to  marry  you-h'e  wasn 
nt  to  black  my  boots. 

"No,"  Davenant  cried,  fiercely.  "There  was  n 
question  of  me."  ^I'cie  was  n 

"BosM     Bosh,    my  good   fellow!     When   a   ma, 

onTbuthl^''""^^  '^"^  ^^-^'^  -  ^—  ^>^  ^- 

hl\''''^''\r'  ^°'  '"  Davenant's  cheeks,  but  h, 

astonishment    or    anger.     "Since    Colonel    .ishlev 

398  ^ 


AIQUT 

persisted. 

)avenant. 
His  chair, 
he  stam- 
think  of 

^  "But  r 

't  undcr- 

:ime  yon 
s  over  in 
:ked  lier 
ole  story 
:rytliina;. 
d  bailed 
r  lives." 
tenant's. 

What's 
:he  only 
]uestion 
e  wasn't 

was  no 

a   man 
of  any 

but  he 
ic  from 
^ishley 


77Lg     STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

knows  so  well  what  happened,  I  shall  leave  him  to 

11  '«-  " 
^^  He  was  about  to  m-ke  his  escape,  when  Olivia 
stopped  him.     "No,  no.     Wait-please  -  ..t.     lell 
me  why  you  did  it."  . 

"I'll  tell  you,"  Ashley  broke  m.     He  spoke  with 
a  kind  of  nervous  jauntiness.     "I'll  tell  you  by  Jove! 
We  had  a  row.     I  called  him  a  cad.     I  called  him  a 
damned  cad.     There  zvas  a  damned  cad  present  on 
that  occasion-only-I  didn't  hit  the  right  nail  on 
the  head.     But  that's  not  what  1  m  coming  to      He 
struck  me.     He  struck  me  right  in  the  teeth,  by 
Tove!     And  when  a  man  strikes  you,  it  s  an  insult 
that  can  only  be  wiped  out  by  blood.     Very  well;  he  s 
offered  it-his  blood.     He  didn't  wait  for  me  to  draw 
it      I  suppose  he  thought  I  wouldn  t  go  in  for  the 
heroic.     So  of  his  own  accord  he  went  over  there  to 
France  and  shed  his  heart's  blood    in  the  hope  that 
I  might  overloo!    his  offence.     All  right,  old  chap; 

I  overlook  it."  ,  .     ,       i  j 

With  a  laugh  Ashley  held  his  hand  up  toward 

Davenant,  who  ignored  it.  "r^i^npl 

"Miss  Guion,"  Davenant  said,  huskily,  Colonel 
Ashley  is  pleased  to  put  his  own  interpretation  on 
what  was  in  itself  a  very  simple  thing  You  mayn  t 
think  it  a  very  creditable  thing,  but  I  U  tell  you  just 
what  happened,  and  you  can  draw  your  own  con- 
clusions. I  went  over  to  France,  and  saw  your  aunt, 
the  Marquise,  and  asked  her  to  let  me  have  my  money 
back.  That's  the  plain  truth  of  it.  She  li  tell  you 
so  herself.  I'd  heard  she  was  very  fond  ot  — • 
devoted  to  you— and  that  she  was  very  tk 

399 


t, 
I.  i 


i  « 


'I 


and 


"wjBfeigSy* 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIG 

generous— and  so  I  thought,  if  I  told  her  exa 
how  matters  stood,  it  would  be  a  good  chance  i 
to — recoup  myself  for — the  loan." 

Ashley  sprang  up  with  another  laugh.  "He  c 
that  well,  doesn't  he.?"  he  said  to  Olivia.  "G 
along,  old  boy,"  he  added,  slipping  his  arm  thro 
Davenant's.  "If  I  let  you  stay  here  you'll  peri 
your  very  soul." 

Davenant  allowed  himself  to  be  escorted  to 
nr°^'     ^J^^   ^'^    shoulder   Ashley   called    back 
Ohvia:  "Fellows  are  never  good  friends  till  al 
they've  had  a  fight." 


tv^'l 


'•ts^moKm 

mi'^ 

i 

'-,,•:    ■ 

^^HH!i:'l  - 

ii 

^'-' 

'nUBfS 

^^BfM^f  e 

1 

--VS." 

Wk 

\ 

5 

i 

■ 

1 '  k* " 

Sp^ 

w^^'-: 

tHif  ■  * 

-  SSn^S^^n 

lAIGIIT 


er  exactly 
lance  to — 

"He  does 

Lome 

n  through 

'II  perjure 

ed  to  the 
back  to 
till  after 


XXIV 

HEN  Ashley,  after  pushing  Davenant 
gently  out  into  the  hall,  returned  to 
Olivia,  she  was  standing  by  the  mantel- 
piece, where  the  five  K'ang-hsi  vases 
had  been  restored  to  their  place  in 
„  honor  of  the  Marquise. 
"Rum  chap,  isn't  he?"  Ashley  observed,  "bo 
awfully  queer  and  American.  No  Englishman 
would  ever  have  taken  a  jaunt  like  that— after  the 
old  lady— on  another  chap's  behalf.  It  wouldn  t 
go  down,  you  know."  . 

Olivia,  leaning  on  the  mantelpiece,  with  tace 
partially  turned  from  him,  made  no  reply. 

He  allowed  some  minutes  to  pass  before  saying: 
"When  I  asked  him  how  he  liked  the  Louisiana  I 
wanted  to  know.     I'm  thinking  of  taking  her  on  her 

next  trip  home." 

She  turned  slightly,  lifting  her  eyes.  There  was  a 
wonderful  light  in  them,  and  yet  a  light  that  seenied 
to    shine    from    afar.     "Wouldn't    that    be    rather 

soon?"  TVT        u 

"It  would  give  me  time  for  all  I  want.     Now  that 
I'm  here  I'd  better  take  a  look  at  New  York  and 
Washington,  and  perhaps  get  a  glimpse  of  your  South. 
I  could  do  that  in  three  weeks." 
26  40i 


iijj^iu-lgsa^ffliaw'iu  JijiigS 


■•I  :: 


ly 


THE    STREET    CALLED    S  "-RJIGI 

She  seemed  to  have  some  difficulty  in  getting 
mind  to  follow  his  words.     "I  don't  think  I  un( 
stand  you." 

There  was  a  smile  on  his  lips  as  he  said:  "Dc 
you  infer  anything?" 

"If  I  inferred  anything,  it  would  be  that  j 
think  of  going  home — alone." 

"Well,  that's  it." 

She  turned  fully  round.  For  a  long  minute  tl 
stood  staring  at  each  other.  Time  and  experiei 
seemed  both  to  pass  over  them  before  she  utte 
the  one  word:  "Why.?" 

"Isn't  it  pretty  nearly — self-evident.?" 

She  shook  her  head.     "Not  to  me." 

"I'm  surprised  at  that.  I  thought  you  woi 
have  seen  how  well  we'd  played  our  game,  a 
that  it's — up." 

"I  don't  see — not  unless  you're  trying  to  tell  i 
that  you've — that  your  feelings  have  undergo 
a — " 

He  was  still  smiling  rather  mechanically,  thou 
he  tugged  nervously  at  the  end  of  his  horizon 
mustache.  "Wouldn't  it  be  possible  — now  t\ 
everything  has  turned  out  so — so  beautifully 
wouldn't  it  be  possible  to  let  the  rest  go  without 
without  superfluous  explanations?" 

"I'm  ready  to  do  everything  ycu  like;  but  I  cai 
help   being  surprised." 

"That  must  be  because  I've  been  more  succe 
ful  than  I  thought  I  was.  I  fancied  that— whei 
saw  how  things  were  with  you — ^you  saw  how  th 
were  with  me — and  that — " 

402 


A I  CUT 

etting  her 
:  I  under- 

:  "Don't 

that  you 


lute  they 
xperience 
e  uttered 


)u  would 
ime,   and 

o  tell  me 
ndergone 

',  though 
lorizontal 
low  that 
itifully— 
without — 

It  I  can't 

succe3s- 
— when  I 
low  they 


I 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"  Saw  how  they  were  with  you  ?  Do  you  mean  ?— 
No   you  can't  mean!— it  isn't— Drusilla?" 

Since  Drusilla  would  do  as  well  as  another,  he 
still  stood   smiling.     She  clasped   her  hands.     Her 

face  was  all  aglow.  ,      ,  ,        ,       ...        r 

"Oh,  I  should  be  so  glad!     It's  only  withm  a  tew 

days  that  I've  seen— how  it  was— with— " 

He  hastened  to  interrupt  her,  though  he  had  no 

idea  of  what  she  was  going  to  say.     "Then  so  long 

as  you  do  see  -"  r    ■  i  x'      u    « 

"Oh  yes;  I— I  begin  to  see.  I  m  afraid  I  ve  been 
very  stupid.  You've  been  so  kind— so  noble— 
when  all  the  while—" 

"  We  won't  discuss  that,  what  ?  We  won  t  discuss 
each  other  at  all.  Even  if  you  go  your  way  and  1 
go  mine,  we  shall  still  be—"      ,  ,        .  i 

He  didn't  finish,  because  she  dropped  again  to  the 
sofa,  burying  her  face  in  the  cushions.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  seen  her  give  way  to  deep  emo- 
tion If  he  had  not  felt  so  strong  to  carry  the  thing 
through  to  the  end,  he  would  have  been  unnerved. 
As  it  was,  he  sat  down  beside  her,  bending  over 
her  bowed  head.     He  made  no  attempt  to  touch 

^"I  can't  bear  it,"  he  could  hear  her  panting.     "I 

can't  bear  it,"  5    -ru         „?" 

"What  is  it  that  you  can't  bear?     1  he  painf 
She  nodded  without  raising  her  head. 
"Or  the  happiness?"  he  asked,  gently. 
She  nodded  again. 

"That  is,"  he  went  on,  "pain  for  me— and  hap- 
piness about— about— the  other  chap." 

403 


"3T3 


m 


.  B 


i    i 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRJIGII T 

She  made  the  same  mute  sign  of  affirmation. 
"Then,  perhaps,  that's  just  as  it  should  be." 

When  Ashley  got  out  to  the  road  Davenant  was 
still  standing  by  the  gate,  uncertain  whethei  to  turn 
back  to  the  house  or  go  away.  Ashley  continued  to 
smile  jauntily.  If  he  was  white  about  the  temples 
and  sallow  in  the  cheeks  there  was  no  one  to  notice 
it. 

"Miss  Guion  wants  to  see  you,"  he  announced 
to  Davenant.  "  It's  about  that  matter  of  her  father. 
I  dare  say  you'll  pull  it  off.  No,  not  just  now,"  he 
added,  as  Davenant  started  to  go  up  the  driveway. 
"She— she's  busy.  Later  will  do.  Say  this  after- 
noon. Come  along  with  me.  I've  got  something 
to  tell  you.     I'm  on  my  way  to  the  Temples'." 

Once  more  Ashley  slipped  his  arm  through  Dave- 
nant's,  but  they  walked  on  in  silence.  The  silence 
continued  till  they  were  on  the  Embankment,  when 
Ashley  said:  "On  second  thoughts,  I  sha'n't  tell  you 
what  I  was  going  to  just  now." 

"That's  all  right,"  Davenant  rejoined;  and  no 
more  was  said  till  they  reached  Rodney  Temple's 
door. 

"Good-by."  Ashley  offered  his  hand.  "Good- 
by.  You're  a  first-rate  sort.  You  deserve  every- 
thing you're— you're  coming  in  for." 

Davenant  could  only  wring  the  proffered  hand 
wondenngly  and  continue  on  his  way. 

Inside  the  house  Ashley  asked  only  for  Drusilla. 
When  she  came  to  the  drawing-room  he  refused  to 
sit  down.     He  explained  his  hurry,  on  the  ground 

404 


M  .  t 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIG irV 

that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Boston  to  take  the  earliest 
possible  train  for  New  York. 

"Oh  yes.  That's  it,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  her 
dumb  looks  of  inquiry.  **  It  couldn't  go  on,  you  see. 
You  must  have  known  it— in  spite  of  what  you  told 
me  last  night.  You've  been  an  out-and-out  good 
pal.  You've  cheered  me  up  more  than  a  bit  all  the 
time  I've  been  here.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you— 
Oh  yes,  I'm  hit;  but  not  hit  so  hard  that  I  can't 
still  go  on  fighting — " 

"Not  in  the  Carral  country,  I  hope." 

"N-no.  On  second  thoughts  that  would  be  only 
running  away.  I'm  not  going  to  run  away.  Wounds 
as  bad  as  mine  have  healed  with  a  bit  of  nursing, 
and—  Well,  good-by.  Say  good-by  to  your  father 
and  mother  for  me,  will  your— especially  to  your 
governor.  Rum  old  chap,  but  sound— sound  as— 
as  Shakespeare  and  the  Bible.  Good-by  once  more. 
Meet  again  some  time." 

It  was  at  the  door,  to  which  she  accompanied  him, 
that  he  said:  "By  the  way,  when  are  you  coming 

home?" 

She  called  all  her  dignity  to  her  aid  m  order  to 
reply  lightly:  "Oh,  I  don't  know.  Not  for  ages  and 
ages.  Perhaps  not  at  all.  I  may  stay  permanently 
over  here.     I  don't  know." 

"Oh,  I  say—" 

"In  any  case  I'm  here  for  the  winter." 

"Oh,  but  I  say,  by  Jove!  That's  forever.  You'll 
be  back  before  spring?"  ^ 

She  weakened  in  spite  of  herself.  "I  couldn  t 
possibly  leave  till  after  Christmas." 

405 


ips^ 


'ii 


u/'iPl'"?'^'-     ^'''    ^^^   ^"^    of   November    now. 
Well,  that  s  not  so  bad.     Expect  to  be  in  Southsea 
some  time  early  m  the  new  year.     See  you  then." 
He  had  gone  down  the  steps  when  he  turned  again 
Urus.lla  was  still  standing  in  the  open  doorway. 

It  s  awfully  queer,  but  I  feel  as  if— you'll  laush. 
I  know-but  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  kept  from  the  com- 
n^ssion  of  a  crime.  Funny,  isn't  it.?  Well,  I'll  he 
ott.  See  you  in  Southsea  not  later  than  the  middle 
ot  January.  Good-by  again;  and  don't  forget  mv 
message  to  your  governor." 


a  J 


■^iM^; 


XXV 


5|T  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Dave- 
nant  reappeared  at  Tory  Hill,  having 
tramped  the  streets  during  most  of  the 
time  since  leaving  Ashley  in  the  morn- 
ing.    He   was    nervous.     He  was    even 

alarmed.     He  had  little  clue  to  Olivia's 

judgment  on  his  visit  to  the  Marquise,  and  he  found 
Ashley's  hints  mysterious. 

It  was  reassuring,  therefore,  to  have  her  welcome 
him  with  gentle  cordiality  into  the  little  oval  sitting- 
room,  where  he  found  her  at  her  desk.  She  made  him 
take  the  most  comfortable  seat,  while  she  herself 
turned  partially  round,  her  arm  stretched  along  the 
back  of  her  chair.  Though  the  room  was  growing 
dim,  there  was  still  a  crimson  light  from  the  sun- 
set. 

He  plunged  at  once  into  the  subject  that  had 
brought  him,  explaining  the  nature  of  the  work  her 
father  would  be  called  upon  to  do.  It  would  be  easy 
work,  though  real  work,  just  what  would  be  within 
his  powers.  There  would  be  difficulties,  some 
arising  from  the  relationship  of  the  iMassachusetts 
bar  to  that  of  Michigan,  and  others  on  which  he 
touched  more  lightly;  but  he  thought  they  could  all 
be  overcome.     Even  if  that  proved  to  be  impossible, 

407 


vsa 


ThE    STREEr_CALLED    STRAIGHT 

there  were  other  things  he  knew  of  that  Mr.  Guion 
could  do— things  quite  in  keeping  with  his  dignity 
1  ve  already  talked  to  papa  about  it,"  she  said. 
He  s  very  grateful— very  much  touched." 
"There's  no  reason  for  that.     I  should  like  his 
company.     I'm— I'm  fond  of  him." 

For  a  few  minutes  she  seemed  to  be  pondering 
absently.  "There's  something  I  should  Hke  to  ask 
you,"  she  said,  at  last. 

*'Yes,  Miss  Guion.?    What  is  it.?" 
"When  people  have  done  so  much  harm  as— as 
we  ve  done,  do  you  think  it's  right  that  they  should 
get  ort  scot-free— without  punishment.?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that,  Miss  Guion. 
It  seems  to  me  I'm  not  called  upon  to  know.  Where 
we  see  things  going  crooked  we  must  butt  in  and  help 
to  straighten  them.  Even  when  we've  done  that 
to  the  best  of  our  powers,  I  guess  there'll  still  be 
punishment  enough  to  go  round.  Outside  the  law- 
courts,  that's  something  we  don't  have  to  look 
after." 

Again  she  sat  silent,  watching  the  shifting  splendor 
of  the  sunset.  He  could  see  her  profile  set  against 
the  deep-red  glow  like  an  intaglio  on  sard. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  "if  you  have  any  idea  of 
the  many  things  you've  taught  me.?" 

"I?"  He  almost  jumped  from  his  seat.  "You're 
laughing  at  me." 

"You've  taught  me,"  she  went  on,  quietly,  "how 
hard  and  narrow  my  character  has  been.  VouVe 
taught  me  how  foolish  a  thing  pride  can  be,  and  how 
unlovely  we  can  make  evei   that  noble  thing  we  call 

408 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

a  spirit  of  independence.  You've  taught  me  how  big 
human  nature  is— how  vast  and  deep  and — and 
good.  I  don't  think  I  believed  in  it  before.  I  know 
I  didn't.  I  thought  it  was  the  right  thing,  the 
clever  thing,  to  distrust  it,  to  discredit  it.  I  did  that. 
It  was  because,  until  I  knew  you— that  is,  until  I 
knew  >ou  as  you  are — I  had  no  conception  of  it — 
not  any  more  than  a  peasant  who's  always  starved 
on  barren,  inland  hills  has  a  conception  of  the  sea." 
He  was  uncomfortable.  He  was  afraid.  If  she 
continued  to  speak  like  that  he  might  say  something 
difficult  to  withdraw.  He  fell  back  awkwardly  on 
the  subject  of  her  father  and  the  job  at  Stoughton. 

"And  you  won't  have  to  worry  about  him.  Miss 
Guion,  when  you're  over  there  in  England,"  he  said, 
earnestly,  as  he  summed  up  the  advantages  he  had  to 
offer,  "because  if  he's  ill,  I'll  look  after  him,  and  if 
he's  very  ill,  I'll  cable.  I  promise  you  I  will— on  my 
solemn  word." 

"You  won't  have  to  do  that,"  she  said,  simply, 
"because  I'm  going,  too."  ^       , 

Again  he  almost  jumped  from  his  chair.  Going, 
too?    Going  where?" 

"Going  to  Stoughton  with  papa." 
"  But— but— Miss  Guion—" 

"I'm  not  going  to  be  married,"   she  continued, 
in  the  same  even  tone.     "I  thought  perhaps  Colonel 
Ashley  might  have  told  you.     That's  all  over." 
"All  over— how?"  ,    r  ,      u 

"He's  been  so  magnificent— so  wonderful.  He 
stood  by  me  during  all  {my  trouble,  never  letting 
me  know  that  he'd  changed  in  any  way—" 

409 


^mmammaim^^^jmmm 


-i". 


y  is' 
» ■  if, 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Oh,  he's  changed,  has  he?" 

Because  he  sat  slightly  behind  her,  she  missed  the 
thunderous  gloom  in  his  face,  while  she  was  too  in- 
tent on  what  she  was  saying  to  note  the  significance 
in  his  tone. 

"Perhaps  he  hasn't  changed  so  much,  after  all. 
As  I  think  it  over  I'm  inclined  to  believe  that  he  was 
in  love  with  Drusilla  from  the  first — only  my  com- 
ing to  Southsea  brought  in  a  disturbing — " 

"Then  he's  a  hound!     I'd  begun  to  think  better 
of  him— I  did  think  better  of  him— but  now,  bv  God 
I'll—"  ^ 

With  a  backward  gesture  of  the  hand,  without 
looking  at  him,  she  made  him  resume  the  seat  from 
which  he  was  again  about  to  spring. 

"No,  no.  You  don't  understand.  He's  been 
superb.  He's  still  superb.  He  would  never  have 
told  me  at  all  if  he  hadn't  seen—" 

She  stopped  with  a  little  gasp. 

"Yes?     If  he  hadn't  seen — what?" 

"That  I — ::hat  I— I  care— for  some  one  else." 

"Oh!  Well,  of  course,  that  does  make  a  difference." 

He  fell  back  into  the  depths  of  his  chair,  his 
fingers  drumming  on  the  table  beside  which  he  sat. 
Minutes  passed  before  he  spoke  again.  He  got  the 
words  out  jerkily,  huskily,  with  dry  throat. 

"Some  one — in  England?" 

"No— here." 

During  the  next  few  minutes  of  silence  he  pulled 
himself  imperceptibly  forward,  till  his  elbows  rested 
on  his  knees,  while  he  peered  up  into  the  face  of 
which  he  could  still  see  nothing  but  the  profile. 

410 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

"Is  he— is  he — coming  to  Stoughton?" 

"He's  going   to  Stoughton.     He's   been   there— 

^  \T  there  was  silence  again  it  was  because  he  dared 
not  frame  the  words  that  were  on  his  tongue. 

"It  isn't— it  can't  be— ?"  ,,       i      j 

Without  moving  otherwise,  she  turned  her  head 

so  that  her  eyes  looked   into   his   obhquely.     bhe 

nodded.     She  could  utter  no  more  than  the  brietest 

syllables.     "Yes.     It  is." 

His  Ups  were  parched,  but  he  still  forced  himselt 
to  speak.  "Is  that  tru^?-or  are  you  saymg  it 
because— because  I  put  up  the  money? 

She  gathered  all  her  strength  together.  it 
you  hadn't  put  up  the  money,  I  might  never  have 
known  that  it  was  true;  but  it  is  true.  I  thmk  it  was 
true  before  that-long  ago-when  you  offered  me 
so  much-so  much!-thzt  I  didn't  know  how  to  take 
it— and  I  didn't  answer  you.  I  can  t  tell.  1  can  t 
tell  when  it  began— but  it  seems  to  me  very  tar 

^Still  bending  forward,  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
left  hand,  raising  his  right  in  a  blind,  groping  move- 
ment in  her  direction.  She  took  it  in  both  her  own, 
clasping  it  to  her  breast,  as  she  went  on: 

"I  see  now-yes,  I  think  I  see  quite  clearly-that 
that's  why  I  struggled  against  your  he  p,  in  the  first 
place.  ...  If  it  had  been  anybody  else  I  should  prob- 
ably  have  taken  it  at  once.  .  •  You  must  have 
thought  me  very  foolish.  ...  I  suppose  I  ^a s^^^ /  ; 
My  only  excuse  is  that  it  was  something  like-like 
revolt-first  against  the  wrong  we  had  been  doing, 

411 


■■ii 


ni  it 


■k 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

and  then  against  the  great,  sublime  thing  that  was 
coming  up  out  of  the  darkness  to  conquer  me. 

That's  the  way  I  felt I  was  afraid I  wanted 

something  smaller— something  more  conventional- 
such  as  I'd  been  trained  for.  ...  It  was  only  by  de- 
grees that  I  came  to  see  that  there  were  big  things 

to  live  for— as  well  as  little It's  all  so  wonderful! 

—so  mysterious!  I  can't  tell!  ...  I  only  know  that 
now — " 

He  withdrew  his  hand,  looking  troubled. 

"Are  you — are  you — sure?" 

She  reflected  a  minute.  "I  know  what  makes  you 
ask  that.  You  think  I've  changed  too  suddenly. 
If  so,  /  can  explain  it." 

The  silence  in  which  he  waited  for  her  to  continue 
assented  in  some  sort  to  this  reading  of  his  thoughts. 

"It  isn't  that  I've  changed,"  she  said,  at  last, 
speakmg  thoughtfully,  "so  much  as  that  I'vewakened 
to  a  sense  of  what's  real  for  me  as  distinguished 
from  what's  been  forced  and  artificial.  You  may  un- 
derstand me  better  if  I  say  that  in  leading  my  life 
up  to— up  to  recently,  I've  been  like  a  person  at  a 
play— 3  play  in  which  the  situations  are  interesting 
and  the  characters  sympathetic,  but  which  becomes 
like  a  dream  the  minute  you  leave  the  theater  and 
go  home.  I  feel  that— that  with  you— I've— I've 
got  home." 

He  would  have  said  something,  but  she  hurried 
on. 

"I've  not  changed  toward  the  play,  except  to 
recognize  the  fact  that  it  zcas  a  play— for  me.  I  knew 
It  the  instant  I  began  to  learn  about  papa's  troubles. 

412 


1,1  i 


lli 


rpHF_^TPF.RT    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

That  was  like  a  summons  to  me,  like  a  call      When 
it    came,    everything    else-the    things    Id    been 
taught  t;  strive  for  and  the  people  whom  I  had  sup- 
posed to  be  the  only  ones  worth  living  with  grew  dis- 
tant and  shadowy,  as  though  they  belonged  to  a  pic- 
ture  or   a   book.     It   seemed   to   me    that   1   woke 
then  for  the  first  time  to  a  realization  of  the  life 
going  on  about  me  here  in  my  own  country,  and  to  a 
fZt  of  my  share  in  it.     If  I  hadn't  -volved  myself 
so  much-and  involved  some  one  ^^^^^'^^  m^-^f^ 
duty  would  have  been  clearer  from  the    tart.     But 
Colonel  Ashley's  been  so  noble!-he's  un^-stood  me 
so  w^U'-he's  helped  me  so  much  to  understand  my- 
self'-that  I  can't  help  honoring  him,  honoring  him 
with  my  whole  heart,  even  if  I  see  now  that  I  don  t 
-that  I  never  did-care  for  him  m  the  way- 

She  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips  to  Keep 
back  what  might  have  become  a  sob.  ,     ,       •„ 

"Ord  you  know  I-I  loved  you?"  he  asked,  still 

^^af/ou   must,"    she   said,   simply..     "I 
used  to  say  I  hoped  you  didn't-but  deep  down  in  my 

^'Helo't  up  and  strode  to  the  window,  where,  with 
his  back  to' her,  he  stared  awhile  at  the  last  cod 
glimmer  of  the  sunset.  His  big  frame  and  broad 
fhoulders  shut  out  the  light  to  such  an  extent  that 
when  he  turned  it  was  toward  a  d^kened  roon..  He 
could  barely  see  her,  as  she  sat  sidewise  to  the  desk, 
an  arm  along  the  back  of  her  chair.  His  attitude  be- 
spoke  a  doubt  in  his  n.    d  that  still  kept  him  at  a 

distance. 

413 


? 


I  r 


IMl-lIMEJi_CAU^ED_ST^^ 

,,lT°l'''"u"°^~^''"''^  no/-saying  all  this,"  he 
pleaded  because  you  think  I've  done  an^hing 
that  calls  for  a  reward?  I  said  once  that  I  should 
never  take  anything  from  you,  and  I  never  shall 

^n"  help'it.''""''^  ^"^  ^°"  ^'^'  °"^>'  ^^""^^  >'«" 
Her  answer  was  quite  prompt.  "I'm  not  giving 
anythmg-or  domg  anything.  What  has  happened 
seems  to  me  to  have  come  about  simply  and  natural- 
ly, like  the  sunrise  or  the  seasons,  because  it's  tiie 
fullness  of  time  and  what  God  means.  I  can't  sav 
more  about  it  than  that.  If  it  depended  on  my 
own  volition  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  speak  of  it  so 
trankly.  But  now— if  you  want  me— as  you  wanted 
me  once —  ^         t'tLcu 

She  rose  and  stood  by  her  chair,  holding  herself 
proudly  and  yet  with  a  certain  meekness  With 
his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  as  though  even  yet 

toward  her°'  ^'''  ^^  "'"''"'^  '^'  '^'''^  ^«°"^ 

Late  that  night  Henry  Guion  stood  on  the  terrace 
below  the  Connthian-columned  portico.  There  was 
no  moon,  but  the  stars  had  the  gold  fire  with  which 
they  shtne  when  the  sky  is  violet.  Above  the  hori- 
zon  a  shimmering  halo  marked  the  cluster  of  cities 
and  owns.  In  the  immediate  foreground  the  great 
em  was  leafless  now,  but  for  that  reason  more  clearly 
etched  against  the  starlight-line  on  line,  curve  on 
curve,  sweeping,  drooping,  interlaced. 

Guion  stood  with  head  up  and  figure  erect,  as  if 
from  strength  given  back  to  him.     Even  through  the 

414 


f-l      jS 
f-l      tl 


ill 

If!      }■ 


THE    STREET    CALLED    STRAIGHT 

darkness  he  displayed  some  of  the  self-assurance  and 
stoutness  of  heart  of  the  man  with  whom  things  are 
going   well.     He   was    remembering— questionmg— 

doubting. 

•*I  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  end  . .  .  and  I  prayed 
yes,  I  prayed.  ...  I  asked  for  a  miracle.  .  .  and 
the  next  day  it  seemed  to  have  been  worked.  .  .  . 
Was  it  the  prayer  that  did  it?  .  .  .  Was  it  any  one's 
prayer? .  . .  Was  it  any  one's  faith  ?..  .  Was  it— God ? 
Had  faith  and  prayer  and  God  anything  to  do 
with  it?  ...  Do  things  happen  by  coincidence  and 
chance?  ...  or  is  there  a  Mind  that  directs  them? 
...  I  wonder!  ...  I  wonder!  .  .  ." 


THE    END 


10fV^«i:lki 


rii3fe:i5ai»;w« 


